
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chap J?f Copjriglit U.2S- 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



FIRST STEPS 



WITH 



AMERICAN AND BRITISH 
AUTHORS 



BY 

ALBERT F. BLAISDELL 

AUTHOR OF "readings FROM THE WAVERLEY NOVELS," " STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR,' 
"stories FROM ENGLISH HISTORY," ETC. 



REVISED AND ENLARGED EDITION 



BOSTON 
LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS 

lO MILK STREET 
1898 



% 



"^^^y 



1 R««?, 



Copyright, 1888 and 1S98, by Lee and Shepard 



All rights reserved 



First Steps with American and British Authors 



)fllJ«D COPIES RECEIVED. 




'iO^^i, o <4^-->^>^^^ "^ ^ ^"^ 



PREFACE 

TO THE REVISED EDITION. 



Ten years have passed since this book was published. 
The author has taken advantage of the demand for a new 
edition to revise the book thoroughly, by bringing it up 
to date, making many additions to the various texts, and 
otherwise adding to its usefulness. 

A systematic study of the texts of standard English au- 
thors is now very generally held to constitute an important 
part of the regular course in most schools of a higher 
grade. Pupils should have a thorough drill on simple se- 
lections before undertaking the more formal study of any 
representative author. In brief, studtots should be pro- 
vided with a judicious and methodical introdttctio7i to the 
standard English texts. 

This book aims to supply such a want. It is intended 
to serve as the basis of a regular course of study in Eng- 
lish literature. Enough material is furnished for at least 
one year's work, except perhaps the purchase of an occa- 
sional copy of an inexpensive school text. The arrange- 
ment of the book is such that the work upon each author 
may be abridged or extended as the time allotted for the 
course in English, and the age and capabilities of the stu- 
dent, may permit. 

A text -book at the best is only a convenient and sug- 
\^ ' iii 



iv PREFACE, 

gestive outline of the subject to be taught. Hence no 
ambitious student should rest content with merely study- 
ing this book. . Each and every topic should be more 
fully discussed and illustrated. 

The author has a grateful appreciation of the kindly 
words of the many teachers who have acknowledged the 
practical benefit they have received from this book. It is 
to be hoped that, in its present revised and enlarged form, 
it may continue to prove itself, as fornierly, a useful and 
convenient handbook to teachers and students of the stan- 
dard English classics. 

A. F. BLAISDELL, 
Boston, October, 1898. 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Introductory i 

II. The \Yrfxk of the Hesperus as a Model . . . . 7 

III. The Normax Baron as a Model 30 

IV. The Lord of Burleigh as a Model 54 

V. Outlines for the Study of a Prose Selection ... 81 

VI. Outline Course of Study in English Literature . . 126 

VII. Henry W. Longfellow . . 141 

VIII. Washington Irving .149 

IX. John G. Whittier 162 

X. Oliver Goldsmith .168 

XL William Cullen Bryant . . . . o 198 

XII. Thomas Gray » . 205 

XIII. Nathaniel Hawthorne . . . .- 212 

XIV. Robert Burns 223 

XV. Oliver Wendell Holmes 238 

XVI. Sir Walter Scott 244 

XVn. Alfred Tennyson 261 

XVIII. Joseph Addison „ 285 

XIX. Lord Byron 296 

XX. William Cowper 312 

XXI. William Shakspeare 318 

XXII. John ]Miltcn o . . . 323 

XXIII. William Wordsworth 333 

XXIV. ^Miscellaneous Subjects in English Literature. . . 351 

NOTES 363 

INDEX 417 



FIRST STEPS WITH AMERICAN AND 
BRITISH AUTHORS. 



CHAPTER I. 

INTRODUCTORY. 



I. Literature in General. — Literature in a general way- 
has reference to the written productions of a nation, but 
in a more limited sense refers only to those writings 
which come within the province of the literary art ; in 
other words, literature, as commonly spoken of, excludes 
scientific and technical works, and is synonymous with 
elegant or polite literature, or belles-lettres as the French 
call it. 

Literature has often been defined. EmxCrson says it is 
the record of the best thoughts. '' By literature," says 
Stopford Brooke, ^^we mean the written thoughts and 
feelings of intelligent men and women, arranged in a way 
that shall give pleasure to the reader." Says John Morley, 
'' Poets, dramatists, humorists, satirists, masters of fiction, 
the great preachers, the character-writers, the maxim- 
writers, the great political orators, they are all literature, 
in so far as they teach us to know men, and to know 
human nature. This is what makes literature a proper 
instrument for a systematic training of the imagination 
and sympathies, and of a genial and varied moral sensi- 
bility." 



2 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

Strictly speaking, English literature refers only to the 
written productions of the British people. But inasmuch 
as the English-speaking world embraces two great nations, 
besides vast colonial dependencies, the term '' English 
literature" is commonly used in its broad sense, referring 
thereby to the great classic authors who have written in 
the English language. English literature may thus in- 
clude the writings of both British and American authors. 
If we wish to be exact, we may designate the literature 
of Great Britain as British literature, and that of the 
United States as American literature. 

2. The Study of English Literature. — Why do we 
study literature "i The answer is brief. To be happy, and 
to do our whole duty, it is of paramount importance that 
we should habitually live with wise thoughts and right 
feelings. What will help us to this gracious companion- 
ship .^ A deep and abiding love for all that is good in 
literature. Hence its study is earnestly commended to 
our interest and care.' ^^The object of literature in educa- 
tion," says John Henry Newman, ^'is to open the mind, 
to correct it, to refine it, to enable it to comprehend and 
digest its knowledge, to give it power over its faculties, 
application, flexibility, method, critical exactness, sagacity, 
address, and expression." 

The story of our English literature began about twelve 



^ " To create and maintain in every student the highest ideal of human life, is, or 
ought to be, the chief work of any higher school. There is no study like that of the 
best literature to form and glorify such an ideal. It reveals possibilities, touches to 
finer issues, broadens thought, kindles faith, sets the soul free, quickens and greatens, 
as nothing else can. 

" Arm in arm v^nth a universal author, you are in living contact with the great facts 
and laws cf nature and of human existence ; you see them from the master's lofty 
Standpoint, and your life is larger than before." — Homeh B. Sprague;, 



INTRODUCTORY. 3 

hundred years ago, and is still going on. The roll-call of 
poets and prose-writers who have added to its treasures 
is long and splendid. To study English literature, is to 
become acquainted with the writings of the great authors 
who have made it what it is. It is to get at the charac- 
teristics of those master minds whose works have been 
universally accepted as classics. It is to read and re-read 
these masterpieces, in which moral truth and human 
passion are touched with a certain largeness and attrac- 
tiveness of form, until their essence becomes a part of our 
real life.' 

This it is that makes the study of English literature, 
wisely selected and wisely studied, not the trifling occu- 
pation of a leisure hour, but a most efficient instrument 
for intellectual and moral discipline. 

3. Methods of Study. The Old and the New. — The 
importance of a more or less extended course in English 
literature in schools of a higher grade is now generally 
recognized. Within a few years the method of instruc- 
tion has been changed for the better. Too much time in 
past years has been given to the routine study of some 
manual of English literary history, and too little attention 
paid to the methodical study of the writings of standard 
authors ; in brief, pupils have been taught to study merely 
about authors, and not to study authors. 

The time-honored method, and the method that is occa- 
sionally employed, was to place in the hands of the pupil 

^ " I need not tell you that you will find that most books worth reading once 
are worth reading twice ; and, what is most important of all, the masterpieces of 
Hterature are worth reading a thousand times. It is a great mistake to think that 
because you have read a masterpiece once or twice, or ten times, therefore you have 
done with it : because it is a masterpiece, you ought to live with it, and make it part 
of your daily life." — John Morley. 



4 FIRST STEPS TV EXGTISH CLASSICS. 

some compend of the history of Enghsh Hterature, and co 
require stated lessons from its several chapters, as in the 
old-time method of studying a text-book on chemistry or 

history. 

The pupil may thus become familiar with certain facts 
and borrowed opinions about authors, and yet scarcely have 
read a line of the writings of the authors themselves. By 
this m.ethod a familiarity with English literary history is 
gained, rather than with English literature : for example, 
a pupil might be able to mention all the plays of Shak- 
speare, and yet have never read a line of one of his plays 
for himself, or had any opinion of his ovvn about the great 
dramatist. In fact, by this method every requirement of 
the teacher could be met, and a creditable examination be 
passed, by a student who had never read a line of the 
authors under discussion. Again, so dreary and so repul- 
sive did this process become to average young pupils, that 
very few were disposed in after-years to cultivate a more 
intelligent acquaintance with standard authors. 

The first and highest aim in the study of English litera- 
ture is thus lost sight of by this radically defective method 
of instruction. For, the main purpose of a necessarily 
brief course in this branch of study in our schools is to 
cultivate a taste for good literature, to stimulate a love 
for systematic and wholesome reading, and to illustrate 
the principles which should guide us in selecting healthful 
books and authors to be read in after-life.' 



^ " My object throughout the class-room stud}' of English literature would be to 
cultivate an intelligent appreciation, a positive love, for those treasures of genius, 
those masterpieces of literary art, which are embodied in our mother tongue ; such a 
love as would be a delight, a sustaining, comforting, restraining influence, througk- 
out life." — J. H. GiLMORE. 



INTRODUCTORY. 5 

4. The Plan of This Book. — The defective method of 
instruction, to which we liave alluded, has been superseded 
of late years, at least in most of our best schools, by the 
more sensible, and, in fact, the only true method ; viz., a 
methodical and thorough study of the text of a few great 
classic authors, supplemented by the necessary amount of 
oral instruction and collateral study. 

Many able scholars and teachers have done much of 
late years, by their writings, to advance the study of Eng- 
lish literature to its proper place in the school curriculum. 
Well-edited and inexpensive editions of our best authors, 
well-arranged for school use, are now easily obtained. 

By this method it is obvious that pupils, and miany 
teachers too, need, and should have, a goodly amount of 
help to enable them to study to the best advantage the 
texts of our standard authors : as in any other branch of 
school-work, explicit directions and practical suggestions 
are needed to help the student to a proper understanding 
of the subject. 

Hence it has been our plan to prepare a useful and 
practical hand-book, which will furnish the young student 
with such general and particular directions, homely details 
and helps, as will serve as an introduction to a systematic 
course of study in English literature. In a general way, 
our plan is to study methodically the texts of a few rep- 
resentative authors, and not merely to read about many 
authors. It is to study w^hat great authors have written, 
and not what some one has written about them. Every 
thing is made subordinate to this great aim. 

The order in which the plan of work is arranged is 
simply for convenience. Experience shows, that, as in 
any other line of school-work, the less difficult should 



O FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

come first. Before the formal study of any particular 
author is begun, pupils should have some experience in the 
proper method of studying a given piece ; hence, in the first 
few chapters, the texts of a variety of choice selections 
have been given, with full explanations. The arrangement 
of the book is such that the representative authors may 
be taken up in any order that may be deemed best. 
The general principle is, that the less difificult and more 
modern authors should come first in order. '' From 
the modern and more easily apprehended specimens of 
English and American literature," says J. H. Gilmore, ''I 
should work back to those which are more obscure and 
more difficult." 

A word of caution may be necessary in reference to the 
analyses, examples, formal questions, etc. They are in- 
tended to be used simply as hints and helps ; hence they 
are not to be copied or re-arranged by the pupil, but are 
to serve as guides to him in his preparation for the class- 
room. 



WRECK OF THE HESPERUS AS A MODEL, 



CHAPTER 11. 

THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS AS A MODEL. 

General Plan of Study: Use of the Guide Analysis. 
— In order to do thorough and systematic work in the 
study of English classic authors, each member of the class 
should follow the same general plan. For convenience, 
we may call this general plan of study which has been 
adopted in the following pages a ''guide analysis." It is 
intended to serve as a general guide to the pupil. It is a 
kind of chart, by means of which the student may direct 
his course to a more systematic understanding of any 
standard production in English literature.' 

In its various forms, which w411 be more fully explained 
hereafter, the guide analysis will help the beginner to 
study, recite, and retain in the memory, the important 
points of a standard piece of prose or poetry. 

After the student has become familiar with this general 
plan for the study of a simple poem, or easy prose selection, 

^ " It is impossible, and, were it possible, it would not be desirable, to lay down a 
set of rules for the guidance of teachers in teaching the works named in the succeed- 
ing pages, which would meet the case of every teacher and of every class. Not 
only do teachers differ in their mental constitution ; not only do classes vary in 
ability, thoroughness of training, and in other respects : but the selections to be read 
differ in length, in subject, in form, and in character. All that we can do is to state 
the principles which should, in our opinion, be acted upon by teachers of English 
literature. The application of these principles must be made by the teachers them- 
selves." 



8 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS, 

and has also acquired some skill in filling in, orally 
or by written exercises, whatever is necessary under the 
several headings, this analysis may be dropped for another 
form of the same general plan, called the ^' special analy- 
sis," which is to be specially adapted to every subsequent 
selection. 



We have selected Longfellow's beautiful ballad, ^'The 
Wreck of the Hesperus," as our first piece to study.' It 
is simple and interesting. It merits our best efforts. 
We are now ready to begin its study, with the aid of the 
following guide analysis : — 

GUIDE ANALYSIS ; THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 

I. Read the poem carefully and thoughtfully. 

II. Recite the story of the poem. 

III. The study of the text. 

IV. The author of the poem : Henry W. Longfellow. 

THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 

HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. 

It was the schooner Hesperus, 

That sailed the wintry sea ; 
And the skipper had taken his little daughter, 

To bear him company. 

^ " Your great object should be to be thorough ; to learn but a little at a time, 
but to learn that little well. A very short poem, thoroughl}' comprehended in all its 
parts, will do to make a beginning upon. Any lesson of this sort that is really well 
learnt is a piece of solid work done ; it serves for a stepping-stone to the next piece," 
— Walter W. Skeat. 



WRECK OF THE HESPERUS AS A MODEL, 9 

Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, 5 

Her cheeks like the dawn of day, 
And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds 

That ope in the month of May. 

The skipper he stood beside the helm, 

His pipe was in his mouth, 10 

And he watched how the veering flaw did blow 

The smoke now west, now south. 

Then up and spake an old sail6r. 

Had sailed to the Spanish Main, — 
" I pray thee, put into yonder port, 15 

For I fear a hurricane. 

'^ Last night the moon had a golden ring, 

And to-night no moon we see ! " 
The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe, 

And a scornful laugh laughed he. 20 

Colder and louder blew the wind, 

A gale from the north-east ; 
The snow fell hissing in the brine, 

And the billows frothed like yeast. 

Down came the storm, and smote amain 25 

The vessel in its strength ; 
She shuddered and paused, hke a frighted steed. 

Then leaped her cable's length. 

" Come hither ! come hither ! my little daughter, 

And do not tremble so ; 30 

For I can weather the roughest gale 
That ever wind did blow." 



lO FIRST STEPS TV ENGLISH CLASSICS, 

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat 

Against the stinging blast ; 
He cut a rope from a broken spar, 

And bound her to the mast. 



35 



^^ O father ! I hear the church-bells ring, 

O say, what may it be ? " 
'' 'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast ! " — 

And he steered for the open sea. 40 

*^ O father ! I hear the sound of guns, 

O say, what may it be? " 
'' Some ship m distress, that cannot live 

In such an angry sea ! " 

*^ O father ! I see a gleaming light, 45 

O say, what may it be ? " 
But the father answered never a word, 

A frozen corpse was he. 

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, 

With his face turned to the skies, 50 

The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow 

On his fixed and glassy eyes. 

Then the maiden clasped her hands, and prayed 

That saved she might be ; 
And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave 33 

On the Lake of Galilee. 

And fast through the midnight dark and drear. 

Through the whistling sleet and snow, 
Like a sheeted ghost the vessel swept 

Towards the reef of Norman's Woe. 60 



WRECK OF THE HESPERUS AS A MODEL. II 

And ever, the fitful gusts between, 

A sound came from the land ; 
It was the sound of the trampling surf 

On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. 

The breakers were right beneath her bows, 65 

She drifted a dreary wreck, 
And a whooping billow swept the crew 

Like icicles from her deck. 

She struck where the white and fleecy waves 

Looked soft as carded wool, 70 

But the cruel rocks they gored her side 
Like the horns of an angry bull. 

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice. 

With the masts went by the board ; 
Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank, 75 

Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared. 

At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, 

A fisherman stood aghast. 
To see the form of a maiden fair, 

Lashed close to a drifting mast. 80 

The salt sea was frozen on her breast, 

The salt tears in her eyes ; 
And he saw her hair, like the brown seaweed, 

On the billows fall and rise. 

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, 85 

In the midnight and the snow. 
Christ save us all from a death like this, 

On the reef of Norman's Woe 1 



12 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS, 



EXPLANATION OF THE GUIDE ANALYSIS. 

I. Read the Poem carefully and thoughtfully. — Before 
coming into the class, read the poem aloud and silently. 
As a part of the home preparation, read and re-read the 
piece selected for the day's recitation, until it is well 
understood. Come to recitation prepared to read it aloud 
with some attention to elocution ; that is, take special 
pains to express clearly the thought with such modifica- 
tions of the voice as the sentiment requires. Short 
poems, and the best passages in long poems, should be 
committed to memory, and recited.' 

II. Recite the St07y of the Poem. — The poem having 
been studied carefully as a part of the home preparation, 
and read in the class-room with some intelligence, and 
with proper feeling and emphasis, the pupil is now pre- 
pared to recite the '^ story" of the poem orally. 

This should be done first without reference to the text, 
telling the story in easy, familiar words. Then, with the 
text of the piece before him, the pupil should translate it 
into simple prose, transposing and changing the original 
wording as he may be able. This may be made a class 
exercise. Let one pupil begin, and have others follow, 
each taking up the story where his classmate leaves off. 

During this exercise, both teacher and pupils may make 



^ " Let such pieces be learned well by heart. This should be made a necessary 
part of the out-school work, — of ' preparation.' While something more than the 
memory is to be thought of, and a mere loading of that faculty is before all things to 
be deprecated, the memory is not to be neglected. It is no trivial blessing to have 
the memory furnished in one's youth with what is worth remembering to the end of 
one's life, and grows more and more precious as we grow older^ and discern better its 
virtues." — J. W. Hales. 



WRECK OF THE HESPERUS AS A MODEL, 13 

such comments and criticisms as will afford a better idea 
of the story, if it is a narrative, or to form a more accurate 
mental picture of the scene described. These comments 
should not, however, interfere with the interest of the 
story or description, but should serve simply as helps to 
a better understanding of the piece. 

III. Study of the Text, — In the study of English classic 
authors, the main thing to be aimed at by the pupil is to 
clearly and fully understand the meaning of the piece 
selected for study, and to appreciate the beauty and 
nobleness of its thoughts and language. 

Hence the explanation of allusions, the pointing out 
of the figures of speech, the derivation of words, and 
other minor matters, should be strictly subordinated to 
this great aim. Yet a large amount of information may 
be imparted, and a very valuable training given, by de- 
voting a certain amount of time to such matters. 

Every student of English literature has already a consid- 
erable store of facts. Let him now turn to good account 
this stock of information. Even in a simple poem, like 
''The Wreck of the Hesperus," nothing should be over- 
looked that will help to a better understanding of the 
poem. Let the pupil ask himself questions, and do his 
best to answer them. Let him say to himself, as he 
studies each passage, " Now, do I understand this } " No 
pupil should ask of another what he can think out or find 
out for himself. The habit of independent search, how= 
ever humble may be the first efforts, is of the greatest 
benefit. 

The ability to answer any ordinary question on the text 
of a given lesson is a fair test of the pupil's having 
properly prepared his lesson. It must be remembered. 



14 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

that, at the most, printed questions are only suggestive. 
They may serve, however, to give a hint, to awaken a 
thought, and to suggest the idea of a question which can 
be readily clothed in words. 

IV. The Aitthor of the Piece. — The moment we be- 
come interested in the personal life of the author whose 
works we are studying, his writings assume a new in- 
terest, and that which was becoming dull and irksome 
will soon prove a source of real pleasure and profit. 

Even in the most elementary work, the somewhat 
monotonous study of the text may be enlivened by in- 
teresting gossipy incidents, anecdotes, illustrations from 
periodicals, and literary references, easily culled in these 
days of abundant books and papers. 

A few facts about the life and times of an author are of 
much greater value than many petty details, unimportant 
dates and facts, and verbose criticisms.' The study of the 
text is of the first importance ; the details of the life and 
times of each author are of comparatively little value, and 
should always take a secondary place in class-room work 

Having just read ^'The Wreck of the Hesperus," we 
may not unnaturally wish to know something of the 
person who wrote it. We have been charmed with its 
simplicity and pathos. Who, then, was its author t The 
text says it was Henry W. Longfellow. Who was Long- 
fellow .? When and where did he live .^ What else did 
he write } Have you read any other of his writings .^ 

^ " It is better to read thoroughly one simple play or poem, than to know details 
about all the dramatists and poets. The former trains the brain to judge of other 
plays or poems : the latter only loads the memory with details that can at any time 
be found, when required, in books of reference." — F. G. Fleay. 



WRECK OF THE HESPERUS AS A MODEL. 15 

The following ^^ Outline of Life " may be of service to 
the pupil : — 

Outline of Life : Henry W. Longfellow. Sugges- 
tive Topics. — When and where born ; where did he attend 
college ? what famous author was his classmate ? college 
professorship ; travels in Europe ; his first literary work ; 
professor at Harvard ; resigned in 1854, but continued to 
live in Cambridge until his death in 1882; some of his 
principal productions, — prose, poems, translations ; some- 
thing about the ''Craigie House," in which Longfellow 
lived for so many years ; Longfellow's personal appear- 
ance. 



EXERCISE. 

A FEW QUESTIONS ON THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 

What is the meaning of the word Hesperus ? Is this an appropriate 
name for a vessel ? What is the meaning of the wor^i skipper ? How does 
a skipper differ from a ?naster or captain ? In the first line of stanza 2, 
explain the figure of rhetoric in detail. Explain the figure in the second line 
of stanza 2. What is meant by a veering flazv? Was it a sign of danger ? 
What is meant by "sailed the Spanish Main"? Is the word hurricane used 
literally, or poetically? Explain the "golden ring" round the moon. What 
does the second line in the same stanza mean ? Explain the phrase, " snow 
fell hissing in the brine." Distinguish between the literal and poetical use of 
the word britie. Explain how the " billows frothed like yeast." What is 
meant by cabWs length ? How can a vessel be said to shudder? Why does 
the little girl think that she hears the church-bells ring ? Explain how the 
fog-bell is used to warn mariners of danger. What is the biblical reference 
in stanza 14 ? 

JO THE TEA CHER. — To train the young student to select the most suitable parts of a 
piece for study outside of the class-room, the teacher should direct his pupils, for a few lessons 
at least, to underline with pencil sundry words, phrases, or passages. 

Attention is thus called to such important literary, geographical, or historical references 
as are found in almost every selection. Practice will soon teach the. pupil to seize upon the 
salient points of any simple piece, without leaning upon so poor a crutch as a pencil. 

Example. — Words to be checked ivith pencil^ and explained, in the Jirsi ten staftzas 
of " The Wreck of the Hesperus : " schooner, Hesperus, wintry sea, skipper, fairy-flax, 
hawthorn-bud5, helm, veering flavv^, Spanish Main, hurricane, golden ring, billows frothed like 
yeast, frighted steed, cable's length, stinging blast, broken spar, fog-bells, rock-bound, open 
sea. 



1 6 FIRST STEPS IM ENGLISH CLASSICS, 

SELECTIONS FOR STUDY. 

\\'e are now prepared to study the following poems on 
the s e general plan as "The Wreck of the Hesperus." 
W :: c i: is not advisable to follow too closely any one's 
particular suggestions, yet the same general directions 

should be insisted upon to insure good results. 

THE INXHCAPE ROCK. 

ROEZRT SIVTHEY. 

He: : 1- ; :::: Graven received no motion; 
Her keel was steady in the ocean. 

■\"\^:thc"t eithe:- -^— : ^^ ??u:::i :: their shcck, 5 

So little they rose, so little tirey frii. 
They did not move the Inchcape Bell. 

The Abbot of A:e::r::: :k 

Had placed that beU on the Inchcape Rock ; i© 

On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung. 

And over the waves its warniug rung. 

When the rock was hid by the surge's swell. 

The mariners heard the warning bell ; 

And then they knew the perilous rock, 15 

And blessed the Abbot of Aberbrothok. 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY. 1 7 

The sun in heaven was shining gay ; 

All things were joyful on that day ; 

The sea-birds screamed as they wheeled rounds 

And there was joyance in their sound. 20 

The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen, 
A darker speck on the ocean green : 
Sir Ralph the Rover walked his deck, 
And he fixed his eye on the darker speck. 

He felt the cheering power of spring ; 2:; 

It made him whistle, it made him sing : 

His heart was mirthful to excess, 

But the Rover's mirth was wickedness. 



His eye was on the Inchcape float ; 
Quoth he, '^ My men, put out the boat. 
And row me to the Inchcape Rock, 
And I'll plague the Abbot of Aberbrothok." 



30 



The boat is lowered, the boatmen row. 

And to the Inchcape Rock they go : 

Sir Ralph bent over from the boat, 35 

And he cut the bell from the Inchcape float : 

DoAvn sunk the bell with a gurgling sound j 

The bubbles rose and burst around : 

Quoth Sir Ralph, '' The next who comes to the rock 

Won't bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok." 40 

Sir Ralph the Rover sailed away ; . 
He scoured the seas for many a day ; 
And now, grown rich with plundered store, 
He steers his course for Scotland's shore. 



1 8 FIRST STEPS TV ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky, 45 

They cannot see the sun on high : 
The wind hath blo\m a gale all day; 
At evenins: it hath died awav. 



On the deck the Rover takes his stand; 
So dark it is. they see no land. 
Quoth Sir Ralph. •• It will be hghter soon, 
For there is the dawn of the rising moon." 

^•' Canst hear," said one, "'the breakers roar? 
For methinks we should be near the shore." 
••' Xow where we are I cannot tell, 
But I wish I could hear the Inchcape Bell." 



50 



55 



They hear no sound : the sweh is strong; 

Though the wind hath fallen, they drift along, 

Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock : 

^' Christ ! it is the Inchcape Rock 1 " 60 

Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair ; 
He cursed himself in his despair ; 
The waves rush in on e\'ery side ; 
The ship is sinking beneath the tide. 

But. even in his dying fear, 65 

One dreadful sound could the Rover hear. — 
A sound as if, with the Inchcape Bell. 
The Devil below was rindns^ his knell. 



SELECTIONS FOR STUu^, 1 9 

WE ARE SEVEN. 

WILLIAjM WORDSWORTH. 

A SIMPLE child, 
That lightly draws its breath, 
And feels its hfe in every limb, 
What should it know of death? 

I met a little cottage girl ; 5 

She was eight years old, she said : 
Her hair was thick with many a curl 

That clustered round her head. 

She had a rustic, woodland air, 

And she was wildly clad ; 10 

Her eyes were fair, and very fair ; 

Her beauty made me glad. 

" Sisters and brothers, little maid, 

How many may you be ? " 
"How many? Seven in all," she said, 15 

And wondering looked at me. 

"And where are they? I pray you tell.'* 

She answered, '' Seven are we ; 
And two of us at Conway dwell, 

And two are gone to sea. 20 

" Two of us in the churchyard lie, — 

My sister and my brother, — 
And in the churchyard cottage I 

Dwell near them with my mother." 



20 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS, 

"You say that two at Conway dwell, 25 

And two are gone to sea ; 
Yet ye are seven. I pray you tell, 

Sweet maid, how this may be." 

Then did the little maid reply, — 

" Seven boys and girls are we ; -e 

Two of us in the churchyard lie, 

Beneath the churchyard tree." 

" You run about, my little maid ; 

Your limbs they are alive ; 
If two are in the churchyard laid, 35 

Then ye are only five." 

" Their graves are green ; they may be seen," 

The little maid replied, 
" Twelve steps or more from my mother's door ; 

And they are side by side. 40 

" My stockings there I often knit, 

My kerchief there I hem ; 
And there upon the ground I sit, — 

I sit and sing to them. 

" And often, after sunset, sir, 45 

When it is light and fair, 
I take my little porringer. 

And eat my supper there. 

" The first that died was little Jane ; 

In bed she moaning lay 50 

Till God released her of her pain, 

And then she went away. 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY. 21 

" So in the churchyard she was laid ; 

And, when the grass was dry, 
Together round her grave we played, — 55 

My brother John and I. 

" x\nd when the ground was white with snow, 

And I could run and slide. 
My brother John was forced to go ; 

And he lies by her side." 6g 

" How many are you, then," said I, 

^' If they two are in heaven? " 
The little maiden did reply, 

^' O master ! we are seven." 

'*' But they are dead, — those two are dead ; 65 

Their spirits are in heaven." 
'Twas throwing words away ; for sail 
The little maid would have her will, 

i\nd said, " Nay, we are seven." 



THE WHITE-FOOTED DEER. 

W^LLIAiM CULLEN BRYANT. 

It was a hundred years ago, 
When, by the woodland ways. 

The traveller saw the wild-deer drink, 
Or crop the birchen sprays. 

Beneath a hill whose rocky side 
O'erbrowed a grassy mead. 

And fenced a cottage from the wind, 
A deer was wont to feed. 



22 FIRST STEPS IX EXGLISH CLASSICS, 

She only came when on the chffs 

The evenin'g moonhght lay, lo 

And no man knew the secret haunts 

In which she walked by day. 

White were her feet, her forehead showed 

A spot of silvery white, 
That seemed to glimmer like a star 15 

In autumn's hazy night. 

And here, when sang the whippoorwill, 

She cropped the sprouting leaves, 
And here her rustling steps were heard 

On still October eves. 20 

But when the broad midsummer moon 

Rose o'er that grassy lawn, 
Beside the silver-footed deer 

There grazed a spotted fawn. 

The cottage dame forbade her son 25 

To aim the rifle here ; 
^^ It were a sin," she said, •' to harm 

Or fright that friendly deer. 

" This spot has been my pleasant home 

Ten peaceful years and more ; 30 

And ever, when the moonlight shines, 
She feeds before our door. 

'' The red-men say that here she walked 

A thousand moons ago : 
They never raise the war-whoop here, 35 

And never twang the bow. 



SELECTIONS SJR STUDY. 23 

^* I love to watch her as she feeds, 

And think that all is well 
While such a gentle creature haunts 

The place in which we dwell." 40 

The youth obeyed, and sought for game 

In forests far away, 
Where deep in silence and in moss 

The ancient woodland lay. 

But once, in autumn's golden time, 45 

He ranged the wild in vain, 
Nor roused the pheasant nor the deer. 

And wandered home again. 

The crescent moon, and crimson eve, 

Shone with a mingled light ; 50 

The deer upon a grassy mead 

Was feeding full in sight. 

He raised the rifle to his eye, 

And from the cHffs around 
A sudden echo, shrill and sharp, 53 

Gave back its deadly sound. 

Away into the neighboring wood 

The startled creature flew. 
And crimson drops at morning lay 

Amid the glimmering dew. 60 

Next evening shone the waxing moon 

As brightly as before ; 
The deer upon the grassy mead 

Was seen again no more. 



24 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

But ere that crescent moon was old, 65 

By night the red- men came, 
And burnt the cottage to the ground, 

And slew the youth and dame. 

Now woods have overgrown the mead, 

And hid the cliffs from sight. 70 

There shrieks the hovering hawk at noon, 
And prowls the fox at night. 



DORA. 

ALFRED TENNYSON. 

With farmer Allan at the farm, abode 

William and Dora. William was his son, 

And she his niece. He often looked at them, 

And often thought, ^^ I'll make them man and wife." 

Now Dora felt her uncle's will in all, 5 

And yearned towards WilKam ; but the youth, because 

He had always been with her in the house, 

Thought not of Dora. 

Then there came a day 
When Allan called his son, and said, " My son, 
I married late, but I would w^ish to see 10 

My grandchild on my knees before I die ; 
And I have set my heart upon a match. 
Now, therefore, look to Dora : she is well 
To look to ; thrifty, too, beyond her age. 
She is my brother's daughter : he and I 15 

Had once hard words, and parted, and he died 
In foreign lands ; but for his sake I bred 
His daughter Dora. Take her for your wife, 
For I have wished this marriage, night and day, 



SELECTIONS EOR STUDY. 25 

For many years." But William answered short : 20 

" I cannot marry Dora j by my life, 

I will not marry Dora ! " Then the old man 

Was wroth, and doubled up his hands, and said, 

" You will not, boy ! you dare to answer thus ! 

But in my time a father's word was law, a^ 

And so it shall be now for me. Look to it. 

Consider, William : take a month to think, 

Awd let me have an answer to my wish, 

Or, by the Lord that made me, you shall pack, 

And never more darken my doors again." 30 

But William answered madly, bit his lips, 

And broke away. The more he looked at her, 

The less he liked her ; and his ways were harsh ; 

But Dora bore them meekly. Then, before 

The month was out, he left his father's house, 35 

And hired himself to work within the fields ; 

And half in love, half spite, he wooed and wed 

A laborer's daughter, JMary Morrison. 

Then, when the bells w^ere ringing, Allan called 
His niece, and said, '' My girl, I love you well ; 40 

But if you speak with him that was my son. 
Or change a word with her he calls his wife, 
My home is none of yours. My will is law." 
And Dora promised, being meek. She thought, 
" It cannot be ; my uncle's mind will change." 45 

And days went on, and there was born a boy 
To William ; then distresses came on him ; 
And day by day he passed his father's gate. 
Heart-broken, and his father helped him not. 
But Dora stored what little she could save, 5° 

And sent it them by stealth, nor did they know 
Who sent it : till at last a fever seized . 
On William, and in harvest-time he died. 



26 I^IKST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

Then Dora went to Mary. Mary sat 
And looked with tears upon her boy, and thought 55 

Hard things of Dora. Dora came and said : 

'^ I have obeyed my uncle until now, 
And I have sinned, for it was all through me 
This evil came on William at the first. 
But, ]^Iary, for the sake of him that's gone, 60 

And for your sake, the woman that he chose, 
And for this orphan, I am come to you. 
You know there has not been for these five years 
So full a harvest : let me take the boy, 
And I will set him in my uncle's eye 65 

Among the wheat ; that, when his heart is glad 
Of the full harvest, he may see the boy, 
And bless him for the sake of him that's gone." 

And Dora took the child, and went her way 
Across the wheat, and sat upon a mound 70 

That was unsown, where many poppies grew. 
Far off the farmer came into the field. 
And spied her not, for none of all his men 
Dare tell him Dora waited with the child ; 
And Dora would have risen and gone to him, 75 

But her heart failed her ; and the reapers reaped. 
And the sun fell, and all the land was dark. 

But when the morrow came, she rose and took 
The child once more, and sat upon the mound, 
And made a little wreath of all the flowers 80 

That grew about, and tied it round his hat 
To make him pleasing in her uncle's eye. 
Then, when the farmer passed into the field, 
He spied her, and he left his men at work. 
And came and said, ^' Where were you yesterday ? 85 

\Miose child is that? What are you doing here?" 
So Dora cast her eyes upon the ground. 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY. 27 

And answered softly, '^This is William's child." 

*^4nd did I not," said Allan, " did I not 

Forbid you, Dora?" Dora said again, 90 

^' Do with me as you will, but take the child, 

And bless him for the sake of him that's gone." 

And Allan said, " I see it is a trick 

Got up betwixt you and the woman there. 

I must be taught my duty, and by you ! 95 

You knew my word was law, and yet you dared 

To shght it. Well — for I will take the boy ; 

But go you hence, and never see me more." 

So saying, he took the boy, that cried aloud 
And struggled hard. The wreath of flowers fell 100 

At Dora's feet. She bowed upon her hands, 
And the boy's cry came to her from the field. 
More and more distant. She bowled down her head. 
Remembering the day when first she came, 
And all the things that had been. She bowed down, 105 
And wept in secret ; and the reapers reaped, 
And the sun fell, and all the land was dark. 

Then Dora went to Mary's house, and stood 
Upon the threshold. Mary saw the boy 
Was not with Dora. She broke out in praise no 

To God, that helped her in her widowhood. 
And Dora said, " My uncle took the boy : 
But, Mary, let me live and work with you ; 
He says that he will never see me more." 
Then answered Mary, ^^This shall never be, 115 

That thou shouldst take my trouble on thyself: 
And now, I think, he shall not have the boy, 
For he will teach him hardness, and to slight 
His mother; therefore thou and I will go. 
And I will have my boy, and bring him home, 120 

And I will beg of him to take thee back ; 



28 r/J^ST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

But if he will not take thee back again, 
Then thou and I \^t.11 hv^e \^atliin one house, 
And work for William's child, until he grows 
Of age to help us." 

So the women kissed 125 

Each other, and set out and reached the farm. 
The door was off the latch ; they peeped, and saw 
The boy set up beti^vixt his grandsire's knees. 
Who thrust him in the hollows of his arm. 
And clapt him on the hands and on the cheeks, 130 

Like one that loved him ; and the lad stretched out 
And babbled for the golden seal, that hung 
From Allan's watch, and sparkled by the fire. 
Then they came in ; but when the boy beheld 
His mother, he cried out to come to her : 135 

And Allan set him do\^Ti, and JSIary said, 
^^ O father ! — if you let me call you so — 
I never came a-begging for myself. 
Or WilHam, or this child ; but now I come 
For Dora. Take her back ; she loves you welL 140 

sir, when William died, he died at peace 
With all men : for I asked him, and he said 
He could not ever rue his marr}ing me — 

1 had been a patient wife ; but, sir, he said 

That he was wrong to cross his father thus. 145 

* God bless him ! ' he said, ' and may he never know 
The troubles I have gone through ! ' Then he turned 
His face, and passed — unhappy that I am ! 
But now, sir, let me have my boy, for you 
Will make him hard, and he will learn to slight 150 

His father's memor}^ ; and take Dora back, 
And let all this be as it was before." 

So ^i3iy said, and Dora hid her face 
By !Mary. There was silence in the room ; 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY, 29 

And all at once the old man burst in sobs : i^^ 

" I have been to blame — to blame. I have killed my son. 
I have killed him — but I loved him — my dear son. 
May God forgive me ! I have been to blame. 
Kiss me, my children." 

Then they clung about 
The old man's neck, and kissed him many times. i6a 

And all the man was broken with remorse, 
And all his love came back a hundred-fold ; 
And for three hours he sobbed o'er William's child, 
Thinking of William. 

So those four abode 
Within one house together ; and as years 165 

Went forward, Mary took another mate ; 
But Dora lived unmarried till her death. 



ADDITIONAL PIECES FOR STUDY. 

If the foregoing pieces, in the opinion of the teacher, 
are not considered suitable or sufficient, others may be 
readily selected from the more common books of compila- 
tions. As additional pieces, the author would suggest the 
following : — 

Longfellow's Victor Galbraith, Skeleton in Armor ; 
Whittier's Barbara Frietchie, In School Days, Wreck of 
Rivermouth, Nauhaught the Deacon ; Rogers's Ginevra ; 
Alice Gary's Picture-Book ; Celia Thaxter's Wreck of the 
Pocahontas. 



30 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 



CHAPTER III. 

'the NORMAN BARON AS A MODEL. 

In the preceding guide analysis, four points, or helps to 
a better understanding of a simple English poem, have 
been explained, with ^^ The Wreck of the Hesperus " as 
a model. Several poems by standard authors have been 
added, to be studied after the plan suggested. 

We are now prepared to go one step farther. We pre- 
sent below a guide analysis with four other points added 
(HI., IV., v., VI.) and fully explained. 

Longfellow's ^' Norman Baron " is selected as a model 
to illustrate the suggestive points added to the analysis. 



GUIDE ANALYSIS : THE NORMAN BARON. 

I. Read the poem carefully and thoughtfully. 

II. Recite the story of the poem. 

III. Write a paraphrase of the piece. 

IV. Divide the piece into parts, or scenes: let them be 

fully realized, and described separately. 
V. Show the relation of the minor parts of the piece to 

the whole ; i.e.. study the harmony of the whole. 
VI. Give due attention to subordinate matters which 

illustrate the piece. 
VII. The study of the text. 
</III. The author of the poem: Henry W. Longfellow. 



NORMAN BARON AS A MODEL. 3 1 

THE NORMAN BARON. 

HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. 

In his chamber, weak and dying, 
Was the Norman baron lying ; 
Loud, without, the tempest thundered, 
And the castle-turret shook. 

In this fight was Death the gainer, 5 

Spite of vassal and retainer. 
And the lands his sires had plundered, 
Written in the Doomsday Book. 

By his bed a monk was seated. 

Who in humble voice repeated 10 

Many a prayer and paternoster. 
From the missal on his knee ; 

And, amid the tempest pealing. 
Sounds of bells came faintly stealing, — 
Bells, that from the neighboring kloster 15 

Rang for the Nativity. 

In the hall, the serf and vassal 

Held, that night, their Christmas wassail ; 

Many a carol, old and saintly. 

Sang the minstrels and the waits ; 20 

And so loud these Saxon gleemen 
Sang to slaves the songs of freemen, 
That the storm was heard but faintly, 
Knocking at the castle-gates. 



32 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

Till at length the lays they chanted 25 

Reached the chamber terror-haunted, 
Where the rnonk, with accents holy, 
Whispered at the baron's ear. 

Tears upon his eyelids glistened, 

As he paused a while and listened, 30 

And the dying baron slowly 

Turned his weary head to hear. 

"Wassail for the kingly stranger 
Bom and cradled in a manger ! 

King, like David ; priest, like Aaron ; 35 

Christ is born to set us free ! " 

And the lightning show^ed the sainted 
Figures on the casement painted, 
And exclaimed the shuddering baron, 

" Miserere, Domine ! " 40 

In that hour of deep contrition 
He beheld, with clearer vision, 
Through all outward show and fashion, 
Justice, the Avenger, rise. 

All the pomp of earth had vanished, 45 

Falsehood and deceit were banished, 
Reason spake more loud than passion. 
And the truth wore no disguise. 

Every vassal of his banner, 

Every serf born to his manor, 50 

All those wronged and wretched creatures. 
By his hand were freed again. 



NORMAN BARON AS A MODEL. 33 

And, as on the sacred missal 
He recorded their dismissal, 

Death relaxed his iron features, 55 

And the monk replied, '^ Amen ! *' 

Many centuries have been numbered 
Since in death the baron slumbered 
By the convent's sculptured portal, 

Mingling with the common dust : 60 

But the good deed, through the ages, 
Living in historic pages. 
Brighter grows and gleams immortal, 
Unconsumed by moth or rust. 



EXPLANATION OF THE GUIDE ANALYSIS. 

III. Write a ParapJirase of tJie Piece, — It is advisable at 
times to have a paraphrase, or free translation, of the piece 
selected for study. 

A paraphrase is an attempt to reproduce in other lan- 
guage the words of an author, or to change the language 
of one expression or collection of words, phrases, or sen- 
tences, into another, so as to retain and explain, in differ- 
ent words and forms, the ideas the original words express. 
A good paraphrase should bring out more clearly, if 
possible, the meaning of an author. Some hold that it 
ought to be not only a sort of explanatory translation 
of any selection of prose or poetry,* but a commentary on 
the subject treated. To write a good paraphrase, there= 
fore, implies a thorough knowledge of the meaning of the 
author. 



34 FIRST STEPS IN ENGIISH CLASSICS. 

First, the paraphrase should be written with great care, 
with the text at hand, changing the phraseology and 
Wording to a considerable extent. 

Again, the piece, if short and simple, should be freely 
translated from memory. These translations are admira- 
bly adapted to enrich the vocabulary, to afford facility in 
the use of the best language, and to impress the choice 
wording of the author upon the memory. 

Extreme brevity need not be required, so long as the 
whole thought, both of the passage as a whole, and of 
individual words, is produced. 

Note. — The following rules will be found helpful in paraphras- 
ing:— 

1. Read over carefully the passage to be paraphrased, until the 
exact meaning is fully understood. 

2. Be careful to make the paraphrase express exactly the meaning 
of the original passage. 

3. Neither expand nor contract the passages unnecessarily. 

4. Use the words of the original passage only when no exact 
equivalents can be found. 

5. Use simple language. Explain obscure expressions. The 
words may be changed. The order of the words may be changed. 
The structure of the sentence may be changed. Figurative language 
may be changed into plain language. 

IV. Bring out tJie general meaning of the poem by divid- 
ing it into parts or scenes. Let these scenes be fttlly realized, 
and described separately. — To what extent this part of the 
study shall be carried, must obviously depend upon the age 
and capabilities of the class. Three or four simple nar- 
rative pieces should be studied, solely with reference to 
this point, in order that the pupil may understand how 
to prepare himself for subsequent recitations. 



NORMAN BARON AS A MODEL. 35 

In '* The Norman Baron " we have presented the fol- 
lowing scenes : — 

I. The Norman baron dying in his castle-chamber during a fearful 
tempest. The monk repeating his prayers from the missal. 

II. The peahng of the Christmas bells is heard from the cloister 
near by. From the halls below come up the sounds of revelry and 
the songs of the old and saintly carols sung by the Saxon gleemen. 

III. They reach the ear of the dying baron; he turns his weary 
head to listen; tears fall; '' Christ is born to set us free;" the 
lightning lights up the stained figures on the casement. The dying 
call for pity; his hour of deep contrition. 

IV. He frees every serf and vassal ; and, as he records it on the 
missal, death relaxes his iron features. Centuries have passed, but 
the good deed " brighter grows and gleams immortal." 

Let these scenes be described in full, and let each be 
made a realistic picture. It is well to draw to a consider- 
able extent on the imagination to present a vivid picture, 
filling in all the details from the brief outline of the 
author. 

V. When the general meaning of eveiy thing, even wliere 
it is obvious^ has been explained, the relation of these scenes 
to tJie whole should be ttnderstood. In other words, show 
how the parts or pictures of the poem harmonize with the 
general idea ; i.e., stndy the unity of the piece. 

In a well-furnished apartment, every thing is supposed 
to be in perfect harmony, even to the tint of the paper, 
the shading of the carpet, and dimensions of the various 
articles of furniture. The parts of a costly building are 
supposed to harmonize perfectly, in order to make up the 
general effect. So it is in every artistic work in literature : 
all the parts tend and converge toward one main idea, to 
which every part is subordinate. 



36 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

What is this one main idea in ''The Norman Baron" ? 
As we have seen, we have presented several vivid pictures. 
Do they harmonize ? Do they serve to bring into full 
relief the main idea ? Do all these minor parts blend so 
as to heighten the effect of the central picture ? Does 
the tempest add to the general effect ? do the old and 
saintly Christmas carols ? Is it in harmony with truth, 
that these carols should have made such a deep impres- 
sion on this stern baron ? 

VI. Attention should now be given to subordinate matters 
which illustrate the poem, — - to allusions, suggestions^ man- 
ners, customs, historical references, and the like. 

What age does ''The Norman Baron'' reflect? What 
religious forms, rites, and superstitions are illustrated ? 
What portion of English history is represented ? (Even 
in this short poem we can draw to a considerable extent 
upon our knowledge of history.) Who were the Normans ? 
When and where did they live 1 How did the nobles and 
common people live in those olden times ? How did they 
eat, drink, and sleep } Again, we have presented for our 
study, the monk repeating his prayers from the missal ; 
the cloister bells ; the songs of the Saxon gleemen ; Saxon 
custom of celebrating Christmas ; the matter of holding 
serfs, and the right to free them. 

70 THE TEACHER. — There is always danger lest some of the preceding points may be 
pushed too far by the anxious teacher, and cause listlessness and weariness. With all classes 
of pupils alike, the main thing to be aimed at by the teacher should be to lead them to under- 
stand clearly and fully the meaning of the author they are reading, and to appreciate the 
beauty, the nobleness, the justness, or the sublimity of his thoughts and language. The deri- 
vation of words, the explanation of allusions, the scansion of verse, the pointing-out of figures 
of speech, the hundred and one minor matters on which the teacher may easily dissipate the 
attention of the pupil, should be strictly subordinated to this great aim. 

VII. The Stttdy of the Text. — As we gradually pass on 
from the simplest pieces to those more difficult, the student 



NORMAN BARON AS A MODEL. 37 

should prepare himself to answer more difficult questions. 
Several recitations should now be devoted solely to a drill 
on the proper questions to be asked by the teacher, and 
to be anticipated by the pupil in his preparation for the 
daily recitation. To this end, the following sets of ques- 
tions may be suggestive. 



EXERCISES. 

QUESTIONS ON THE NORMAN BARON. 

What is the title of this poem? Tell me what you know about the 
Normans. What was a baron? Meaning of tempest? Why the word 
thujtdered? What is a castle-turret ? Describe, in a general way, a Norman 
castle. " In this fight : " why this ? Why is Death used with a capital ? 
What is meant by " spite of vassal and retainer," etc. ? Why does the poet 
speak of the lands written in the Doom.sday Book ? What was this Dooms- 
day Book? Tell me all you know about the monks. What was this 7?iissal ? 
What is meant here hy prayer ? paternoster ? In /nc?nble voice, — meaning of 
the phrase in this connection? In the fourth stanza, what is the subject? 
verb? their modifiers? Fai7ttly stealing; explain the meaning. Bells; 
why repeated? What is meant by kloster ? Why not cloister? What is 
referred to by N'ativity ? What was the ancient custom at Christmas-time 
in England ? Has it been continued ? Explain serf and vassal. Meaning 
of wassail? What special freedom was allowed the serfs and vassals at this 
time ? What similar custom formerly existed in the South ? What is a 
carol ? Why *' old and saintly " ? Who were the minstrels and the waits ? 
Saxon gleemen ? Meaning of slaves in this connection ? When the poet 
speaks of the storm knocking at the castle-gates, what does he mean ? Force 
of terror-haunted? ^^ accents holy''''? Why should these chanted lays have 
brought tears to the eyes of this rude Norman lord ? In the quoted extract, 
who is referred to by the "kingly stranger"? Force of wassail? Explain 
the third verse of this stanza. In the tenth stanza, what is the subject? 
verb ? the object ? Explain its meaning. What olden custom is referred 
to by these two verses ? Force of shuddei^ing? Render the Latin ^^MisererCy 
Domine.^'' Why did the baron repeat these two words ? Translate the 
eleventh and twelfth stanzas into your own words, explaining them fully at 



38 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

the same time. Are these lines of universal application to those who have 
wronged their fellow-men? What was the practical result of this deep 
contrition ? Do you know whether the baron could legally do this, or is it 
merely a poetical license ? Why is he represented as recording their dis- 
missal on the missal ? W^hat is the moral of this beautiful poem ? What 
practical lesson can we learn from it ? 



QUESTIONS OX THE FIRST STOZA OF GRAT'S ELEGY. 

" The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea. 
The ploughman hom'ew-ard plods his weary way, 
And leaves the world to darkness and to me." 

In General. —About what time was the "Elegy" begun, and when fin- 
ished ? Were some stanzas suppressed by the author ? how many ? W^here 
w^as this churchyard located ? any dispute about this point ? Did the poem 
become popular at once? has it so remained? What is the best proof you 
can give of its popularity ? Is the original MS. in existence ? At what price 
has it recently been sold ? How many of the phrases and lines of the poem 
have become household words? W^hat would you call the most familiar 
quotation ? What is the leading thought or idea running through the wdiole ? 
Did Gray really ever take twilight walks in a churchyard ? The last three 
stanzas are called the epitaph : did the writers of this time devote much 
labor to elaborate epitaphs ? 

The Text. — Curfew: derivation of the word? history of the word? 
What various explanations of this word ? What was the curfew bell ? Has 
this custom been continued in England ? Have we a similar custom in our 
country? A famous author has criticised these lines, by saying that the 
herds and ploughmen must have been several hours behind their usual time 
for coming home, if the curfew was ringing : what reply do you make to this 
criticism ? Tolls ; what is the meaning here ? force of this particular word ? 
Why not use rings instead of tolls ? What is the effect of specific words, 
so common in great writers ? Illustrate this by some familiar quotation. 
Meaning of knell? why this specific w^ord ? The verse as a whole: explain 
its meaning. Force of lowing? Is herd singular or plural ? But the word 
wind \'$> written both with and without thej"; which is correct? How did 
Gray write it ? Why the specific word wind ? W^hy slowly ? O^er is poeti- 
cal for what ? why contracted, and by what authority ? Lea, used in poetry, 
)rose, or both ? give synonyme. Why is ploitghman used ? what synonyme 



NORMAN BARON AS A MODEL. 39 

can you suggest? Force of ;plod? suggest a synonyme. This verse is 
remarkable for the number of transpositions which it will allow, and still 
keep the idea; will you give orally all you can? Subject of leaves? Mean- 
ing of ivoj'ld ? what figure used ? Does the author refer to himself, by fjte ? 



Exercise. — Thomas Gray wrote the "Elegy in a Country Churchyard." 
Ql-ive orally a few points about his life. 

For the complete text of the " Elegy," and a life of Gray, see chap. xii. 



QUESTIOXS ON TEX LINES IN GOLDSMITH'S DESERTED TILLAGE. 

" Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, 
And still where many a garden flower grows wild, 
There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, 
The village preacher's modest mansion rose. 
A man he was to all the country dear. 
And passing rich with forty pounds a year. 
Remote from towns he ran his goodly race, 
Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place ; 
Unpractised he to fawn, or seek for power 
By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour." 

Li7ies 137-146. 

What general description do we have in these verses ? Judging from the 
author's life, would you think him capable of giving so finished a picture 
of a country clergyman.^ What facts of his early life will give an expla- 
nation } What persons did Goldsmith probably have in mind .'' Why do 
you think so.-* What incident of his travels in France will illustrate this 
point ? In all his reckless and dissipated career, did he ever retain great 
respect for his early teachings ? For what relative did Goldsmith ever 
cherish the utmost reverence ? What references have we to him in his writ- 
ings ? Illustrate the point by selections from " Citizen of the World." 

Why did Goldsmith write this passage at the particular time he did.'' 
Does it bear evidence of personal grief? Will you read, or give in sub- 
stance, Irving's allusion to this passage } also first part of the dedication of 
the "Traveller"? From line 137 what ruin is referred to? What does 
yonde7' mean? Is it common in standard authors? What is its use in 
Western idiom? Meaning of copse y smiled? Explain figure of rhetoric. 



40 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

Explain line 138. Does this really happen when an estate has gone to ruin ? 
Why is ///^r^ used in line 139? V^Yvy fo7'ii sJij-ubs? Why specify the word 
shrub rather than tree, bush, etc. ? Force of disclose. ? What is the subject 
of the lines? verb? Show how the subject and verb are modified. Why 
village preacher? Why speak of one preacher? Would this apply to the 
villages in this country ? Why true even in the large English villages ? 
Give synonymes of the word preacher, and explain the use of each. When 
the English clergy is referred to in older English authors, what sect is 
meant ? What difference in the rank, position, and work of an English and 
an American clergyman? Ma?tsio7t, giwQ synonyme, sense in this passage. 
Dispose of lines 141 and 142. Explain them in your own words. What does 
passijig mean ? Give synonyme. Is it used as in the text at the present day ? 
What salary did the preacher receive ? How much money would it be worth 
to-day ? What can you say about the pay of clergymen then and now ? Is 
this line often quoted ? When would you appropriately quote it ? Explain 
the figure in line 143. Give a similar figure from Hebrews. What is the 
sense of the figure as used by Paul ? Has this figure become grafted into 
the popular speech ? Explain lines 143 and 144. What word was used in 
place of tmpractised (145) in the "first edition"? Explain the ysoxd^ fawn. 
Explain line 146 in full ; fashioned and hour, explain and illustrate the 
figures. 

Exercise. — Oliver Goldsmith wrote " The Deserted Village." Give 
orally a few facts about his life and times. (See chap, x.) 



EXERCISES. 

With the guide analysis of ''The Norman Baron" for a 
model, return to the texts of the following poems : — 

Longfellow's Wreck of the Hesperus, p. 8; Southey's Inchcape Rock, 
p» 16; Wordsworth's We are Seven, p. 19; Bryant's White-footed Deer, 
p. 21 ; Tennyson's Dora, p. 24. 

Four of the points in the analysis (p. 12) (L, II., VII., 
VIII.) have already been studied. Return now to these 
five poems, and study each with reference to the other four 
points (p. 33) (III., IV., v., VI.). In brief, study these 
five poems as '' The Norman Baron " has just been studied. 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY. 4 1 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY. 

The following poems are now to be studied after the 
plan suggested in our study of '^The Norman Baron."- 
In this chapter we have taken another very important 
step in advance. The utmost pains should be taken with 
each and every detail of study suggested. Attention to 
details is necessary to the mastery of even a simple 
English poem. 

ROSABELLE. 

SIR WALTER SCOTT. 

O LISTEN, listen, ladies gay ! 

No haughty feat of arms I tell ; 
Soft is the note, and sad the lay, 

That mourns the lovely Rosabelle. 

" Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew ! 5 

And, gentle lady, deign to stay ! 
Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch, 

Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day. 

" The blackening wave is edged with white ; 

To inch and rock the sea-mews fly ; 10 

The fishers have heard the water-sprite. 

Whose screams forebode that wreck is nigh. 

" Last night the gifted seer did view 
A wet shroud swathed round lady gay ; 

Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch : 15 

Why cross the gloomy firth to-day?'* 



42 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS, 

"• 'Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir 

To-night at Roshn leads the ball, 
But that my lady-mother there 

Sits lonely in her castle-hall. 20 

^' 'Tis not because the ring they ride, 
And Lindesay at the ring rides well, 

But that my sire the wine will chide, 
If 'tis not filled by Rosabelle." 

O'er Roslin all that dreary night 25 

A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam ; 

'Twas broader than the watch-fire's light, 
And redder than the bright moonbeam. 

It glared on RosHn's castled rock, 

It ruddied all the copse-wood glen ; 30 

'Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak, 

And seen from caverned Hawthornden. 

Seemed all on fire that chapel proud, 
Where Roslin's chiefs uncofifined lie ; 

Each baron, for a sable shroud, * 35 

Sheathed in his iron panoply. 

Seemed all on fire, within, around. 

Deep sacristy and altar's pale : 
Shone every pillar foliage-bound, 

And glimmered all the dead men's mail. 40 

Blazed battlement and pinnet high, v 
Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair, — 

So still they blaze, when fate is nigh 
The lordly line of high Saint Clair. 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY. A^ 

There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold 45 

Lie buried within that proud chapelle : 
Each one the holy vault doth hold, — 

But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle ! 

And each Saint Clair was buried there, 

With candle, with book, and with knell ; 50 

But the sea- caves rung, and the wild winds sung 

The dirge of lovely Rosabelle. 



LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER, 

THOMAS CAMPBELL. 

A CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound, 

Cries, '' Boatman, do not tarry ! 
And I'll give thee a silver pound, 

To row us o'er the ferry." 

'' Now, who be ye would cross Lochgyle^ $ 

This dark and stormy water?" 
^' O I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, 

And this Lord Ulhn's daughter. 

^' And fast before her father's men 

Three days we've fled together, i^ 

For should he find us in the glen, 

My blood would stain the heather. 

^^ His horsemen hard behind us ride ; 

Should they our steps discover. 
Then who wtII cheer my bonny bride 15 

When they have slain her lover?" 



^4 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, 

" I'll go, my chief, — I'm ready : 
It is not for your silver bright. 

But for your winsome lady : 20 

" And, by my word ! the bonny bird 

In danger shall not tarry ; 
So, though the waves are raging white, 

I'll row you o'er the ferry." 

By this the storm grew loud apace, 25 

The water-wraith was shrieking ; 
And in the scowl of heaven each face 

Grew dark as they were speaking. 

But still as wilder blew the wind, 

And as the night grew drearer, 3(? 

Adown the glen rode armed men. 

Their trampling sounded nearer. 

^' O haste thee, haste ! " the lady cries^ 
'' Though tempests round us gather ; 

111 meet the raging of the skies, 35 

But not an angry father." 

The boat has left a stormy land, 

A stormy sea before her, — 
When, oh ! too strong for human hand, 

The tempest gathered o'er her. 40 

And still they rowed amidst the roar 

Of waters fast prevailing. 
Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore. 

His wrath was changed to wailing ; 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY. 45 

For sore dismayed, through storm and shade, 45 

His child he did discover : 
One lovely hand she stretched for aid, 

And one was round her lover. 

^' Come back ! come back ! " he cried in grief, 

" Across this stormy water : 50 

And I'll forgive your Highland chief, 
My daughter ! — O my daughter ! " 

'Twas vain ; the loud waves lashed the shore, 

Return or aid preventing : 
The waters wild went o'er his child, -^ 55 

And he was left lamenting. 



THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM. 

ROBERT SOUTHEY. 

It was a summer evening, 

Old Kaspar's work was done ; 

And he before his cottage-door 
Was sitting in the sun, 

And by him sported on the green 

His little grandchild Wilhelmine. 

She saw her brother Peterkin 
Roll something large and round. 

That he beside the rivulet, 
In playing there, had found ; 

He came to ask what he had found. 

That was so large and smooth and round. 



40 FIRST STEPS IX EXGLISH CLASSICS, 

Old Kaspar took it from the boy, 

Who stood expectant by ; 
And then the old man shook his head, 15 

And with a natural sigh, 
" Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he, 

'' Who fell in the great victory. 

'' I find them in the garden, 

For there's many hereabout, 20 

And often when I go to plough. 

The ploughshare turns them out ; 
For many thousand men," said he, 
'' Were slain in the great victory," 

^' Now tell us what 'twas all about," 25 

Young Peterkin he cries. 
And little Wilhelmine looks up 

With wonder- waiting eyes ; 
'' Now tell us all about the war, 
And what they killed each other for." 30 

"It was the English," Kaspar cried, 

'* That put the French to rout ; 
But what they killed each other for, 

I could not well make out. 
But everybody said," quoth he, 35 

^' That 'twas a famous victory. 

" My father lived at Blenheim then, 

Yon little stream hard by : 
They burnt his dwelling to the ground, 

And he was forced to fly ; 40 

So with his wife and child he fled, 
Nor had he where to rest his head. 



SELECTIONS EOR STUDY. 47 

" With fire and sword the country round 

Was wasted far and wide, 
And many a childing mother then, 45 

And new-born infant, died. 
But things like that, you know, must be, 
At every famous victory. 

" They say it was a shocking sight, 

After the field was won, 50 

For many thousand bodies here 

Lay rotting in the sun ; 
But things like that, you know, must be, 
After a famous victory. 

" Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won, 55 

And our good Prince Eugene." 
" Why, 'twas a very wicked thing ! '' 

Said little Wilhelmine. 
^^ Nay, nay, my httle girl," quoth he, 
'^ It was a famous victory. 60 

" And everybody praised the Duke, 

Who such a fight did win." 
*'But what good came of it, at last?" 

Quoth little Peterkin. 
" Why, that I cannot tell," said he, 65 

"But 'twas a famous victory." 



THE GIFT OF TRITEMIUS. 

JOHN G. WHITTIER. 

Tritemius of Herbipolis, one day, 
While kneeling at the altar's foot to pray, 
Alone with God, as was his pious choice. 
Heard from without a miserable voice, 



48 FIRST STEPS IX EXGLISH CLASSICS. 

A sound which seemed of all sad things to tell, ^ 

As of a lost soul crying out of hell. 

Thereat the Abbot paused, the chain whereby 

His thoughts went upward broken by that cry ; 

And, looking from the casement, saw below 

A wretched woman, with gray hair a-flow, lo 

And withered hands held up to him, who cried 

For alms as one who might not be denied. 

She cried, •' For the dear love of Him who gave 

His life for ours, my child from bondage save, — 

My beautiful, brave first-born, chained with slaves 15 

In the Moor's galley, where the sun-smit waves 

Lap the white walls of Tunis I '' — *' What I can 

I give," Tritemius said. ^^ my prayers." — '* O man 

Of God ; " she cried, for grief had made her bold, 

^* ]\Iock me not thus ■ I ask not prayers, but gold. 20 

Words will not serve me, alms alone suffice ; 

Even while I speak perchance my tirst-born dies.'' 

^'' Woman ! " Tritemius answered, ^- from our door 

None go unfed ; hence are we always poor : 

A single soldo is our only store. 25 

Thou hast our prayers, — what can we give thee more? " 

^' Give me," she said, •• the silver candlesticks 

On either side of the great crucifix. 

God well may spare them on his errands sped, 

Or he can give you golden ones instead." 30 

Then spake Tritemius. '• Even as thy word. 

Woman, so be it 1 (Our most gracious Lord, 

AMio loveth mercy more than sacrifice, 

Pardon me if a human soul I prize 

Above the gifts upon his altar piled !) 55 

Take what thou askest, and redeem thy child." 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY. 49 

But his hand trembled as the holy alms 

He placed within the beggar's "eager palms ; 

And as she vanished down the linden shade, 

He bowed his head, and for forgiveness prayed. 40 

So the day passed, and when the twilight came 
He woke to find the chapel all aflame, 
And, dumb with grateful wonder, to behold 
Upon the altar candlesticks of gold ! 



LADY CLARE. 

ALFRED TENNYSON. 

It was the time when lilies blow, 
And clouds are highest up in air, 

Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe 
To give his cousin, Lady Clare. 

Z trow they did not part in scorn : 
Lovers long-betrothed were they ; 

They two will wed the morrow morn, — 
God's blessing on the day ! 

^' He does not love me for my birth. 
Nor for my lands so broad and fair : 

He loves me for my own true worth. 
And that is w^ell," said Lady Clare. 

In there came old Alice the nurse, 

Said, '^ Who was this that went from thee ? " 
" It was my cousin," said Lady Clare : 

" To-morrow he weds with me." 



50 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS, 

"O God be thanked ! " said Alice the nurse, 
^^That all comes round so just and fair : 

Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands, 

And you are not the Lady Clare.'' 20 

^^ Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my nurse ? " 
Said Lady Clare, '' that ye speak so wild? " 

"As God's above," said Alice the nurse, 
" I speak the truth : you are my child. 

" The old Earl's daughter died at my breast, — 25 

I speak the truth, as I live by bread ! 
I buried her like my own sweet child. 

And put my child in her stead." 

" Falsely, falsely have ye done, 

O mother," she said, " if this be true, 30 

To keep the best man under the sun 

So many years from his due." 

"Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse, 

" But keep the secret for your Hfe ; 
And all you have will be Lord Ronald's, 35 

When you are man and wife." 

" If I'm a beggar born," she said, 

" I will speak out, for I dare not lie. 
Pull off, pull off the brooch of gold. 

And fling the diamond necklace by." 4(/ 

"Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse, 

" But keep the secret all ye can." 
She said, " Not so ; but I will know 

If there be any faith in man." 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY. 51 

'^ Nay now, what faith? " said Alice the nurse : 45 

"The man will cleave unto his right." 
"xAnd he shall have it," the lady replied, 

"Though I should die to-night." 

" Yet give one kiss to your mother dear ; 

Alas, my child ! I sinned for thee." o 

"O mother, mother, mother ! " she said, 

" So strange it seems to me ! 

"Yet here's a kiss for my mother dear, 

My mother dear, if this be so ; 
And lay your hand upon my head, 55 

And bless me, mother, ere I go." 

She clad herself in a russet gown, — 

She was no longer Lady Clare ; 
She went by dale, and she went by down. 

With a single rose in her hair. 6a 

The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brought 

Leapt up from where she lay, 
Diopt her head in the maiden's hand, 

And followed her all the way. 

Down stept Lord Ronald from his tower. 65 

" O Lady Clare, you shame your worth ! 

Why come you drest like a village maid. 
That are the flower of the earth?" 



*^ If I come drest Hke a village maid, 
I am but as my fortunes are : 

I am a beggar born," she said, 
" And not the Lady Clare." 



70 



FIRST STEPS TV ENGUSH CLASSICS. 

'^Play me no tricks/' said Lord Ronald, 

" For I am yours in word and in deed ; 
Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald, 75 

^^ Your riddle is hard to read." 

O and proudly stood she up ! 

Her heart within her did not fail ; 
She looked into Lord Ronald's eyes, 

And told him all her nurse's tale. go 

He laughed a laugh of merry scorn ; 

He turned and kissed her where she stood. 
'' If you are not the heiress born, 

And I," said he, ''the next in blood, — 

'^ If you are not the heiress bom, 85 

And I," said he, " the lawful heir, 
We two will wed to-morrow^ mom. 

And you shall still be Lady Clare." 



SOME QUESTIONS OX LADY CLARE. 

When was this poem written ? and by whom ? In what metre is it writ- 
ten ? Is the metre appropriate for the poem ? and why ? ' Mention other 
poems by Tennyson written in the same metre. Mention other standard 
poems in the same metre. Who was this Lady Clare t W^hat was her social 
rank ? At w-hat time of the year does the poem open } What is meant by 
" the time w^hen lilies blow " ? " clouds are highest in the air " .-* What is a 
doe ? Why w'as it an appropriate present ? Meaning of trow ? In the 
second stanza, what is the relation of the second verse to the first? What 
reason had Lady Clare for speaking of her lover as she does in the third 
stanza? What does the nm'se mean by saying that "all comes round so 
just and fair "? Had Lady Clare good reason for thinking that her nurse 
was out of her head? Give the nurse's story in your own words. What 
was Lady Clare's feeling towards her nurse after this revelation? What did 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY. 53 

the nurse counsel Lady Clare to do ? What was the reply ? Did the fatr 
lady forgive her nurse ? What then did Lady Clare do ? How did she 
prepare herself to meet Lord Ronald? What act of the "lily-white doe" 
adds pathos to the picture ? How did Lord Ronald receive her ? Why 
did Lord Ronald speak of " tricks " and " riddle hard to read " ? Describe 
in some detail how Lady Clare told Lord Ronald "all her nurse's tale." 
How did Lord Ronald receive his lady-love's story? his reply? Why should 
the nurse have kept the secret so long, and then have revealed it on the 
day before the wedding ? Did Lady Clare act the noble part in thus telling 
the story to her lover? Why not have kept the secret? Can you draw any 
moral from this little poem ? 



ADDITIONAL PIECES FOR STUDY. 

Longfellow's Paul Revere's Ride, Old Clock on the 
Stairs ; Lowell's Ambrose ; Whittier's Mary Garvin ; 
Bayard Taylor's Napoleon at Gotha ; Holmes's Deacon's 
Masterpiece ; Byron's Destruction of Sennacherib ; Bret 
Harte's John Burns at Gettysburg ; Southey's Bishop 
Bruno, Well of St. Keyne, God's Judgment on Hatto , 
Aytoun's Execution of Montrose. 



54 J^YJ^ST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 



CHAPTER IV. 

THE LORD OF BURLEIGH AS A MODEL. 

We present in this chapter a complete guide analysis, 
with Tennyson's ''The Lord of Burleigh'* as a model. 
Ten points are given as helps to a better understanding 
of the poem. The exercise in criticism is somewhat diffi- 
cult ; after some practice, however, it will become a source 
of interest and profit to the pupil. 

It is not to be supposed that this, or any other form of 
an analysis, can be used with every poem. With many 
pieces, fully one-half of the points may be omitted. How 
many are made use of, and to what extent any one that is 
made use of is carried, must depend upon circumstances. 



GUIDE ANALYSIS: THE LORD OF BURLEIGH. 

I. Read the poem carefully and thoughtfully. 

II. Recite the story of the poem. 

III. Write a paraphrase of the poem. 

IV. Divide the poem into parts, or scents. 
V. Unity of the parts. 

VI. Minor details which illustrate the poem. 

VII. The study of the text. 

VIII. An exercise in criticism. 

IX. Memory quotations. 

X. The author of the poem: Alfred Tennyson. 



THE LORD OF BURLEIGH AS A MODEL, 55 

THE LORD OF BURLEIGH. 

ALFRED TENNYSON. 

In her ear he whispers gayly, 

'^ If my heart by signs can tell, 
Maiden, I have watched thee daily, 

And I think thou lov'st me well.'* 
She replies, in accents fainter, 5 

'' There is none I love like thee." 
He is but a landscape-painter, 

And a village maiden she. 
He to lips, that fondly falter. 

Presses his without reproof: 'o 

Leads her to the village altar. 

And they leave her father's roof. 
" I can make no marriage present ; 

Little can I give my wife. 
Love will make our cottage pleasant, '5 

And I love thee more than life." 
They by parks and lodges going 

See the lordly castles stand ; 
Summer woods, about them blowing. 

Made a murmur in the land. 20 

From deep thought himself he rouses, 

Says to her that loves him well, 
" Let us see these handsome houses 

Where the wealthy nobles dwell." 
So she goes by him attended, 25 

Hears him lovingly converse, 
Sees whatever fair and splendid 

Lay betwixt his home and hers ; 
Parks with oak and chestnut shady. 

Parks and ordered gardens great, 3° 

Ancient homes of lord and lady. 

Built for pleasure and for state. 



56 FIRST STEPS IX ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

All he shows her makes him dearer : 

Evermore she seems to gaze 
On that cottage growing nearer^, Zl 

WhtT^ they twain will spend their days. 
O but she will love him truly ! 

He shall have a cheerfiil home ; 
She will order all things duly, 

AATien beneath his roof they come. 4© 

Thus her heart rejoices greatly. 

Till a gateway she discerns 
With armorial bearings statefy. 

And beneath the gate she turns ; 
Sees a mansion more majestic 45 

Than all those she saw before : 
Many a gallant gay domestic 

Bows before him at the door. 
And they speak in gentle murmur. 

When they answer to his call, 5® 

^^^lile he treads \^-ith footstep finner^ 

Leading on from hall to halL 
And, while now she wonders blindly. 

Nor the meaning can di\ine. 
Proudly turns he round and kindly, — 55 

" AH of this is mine and thine." 
Here he hves in state and bounty. 

Lord of Burleigh, fair and free ; 
Not a lord in all the county 

Is so great a lord as he. ^ 

All at once the color flushes 

Her sweet face from brow to chin : 
As it were with shame she blushes. 

And her spirit changed within. 
Then her countenance all over ' ^ 

Pale again as death did prove ; 



THE LORD OF BURLEIGH AS A MODEL, 57 

But he clasped her hke a lover, 

And he cheered her soul with love. 
So she strove against her weakness, 

Though at times her spirits sank : 7© 

Shaped her heart with woman's meekness 

To all duties of her rank : 
And a gentle consort made he, 

And her gentle mind was such 
That she grew a noble lady, •• 75 

And the people loved her much. 
But a trouble weighed upon her, 

And perplexed her, night and mom, 
With the burden of an honor 

Unto which she was not bom. ^o 

Faint she grew, and ever fainter, 

As she murmured, '' O that he 
Were once more that landscape-painter, 

Which did win my heart from me ! " 
So she drooped and drooped before him, ^ 

Fading slowly from his side. 
Three fair children first she bore him. 

Then before her time she died. 
Weeping, weeping late and early, 

Walking up and pacing down. 
Deeply mourned the Lord of Burleigh, 

Burleigh-house by Stamford-town. 
And he came to look upon her. 

And he looked at her, and said, 
" Bring the dress, and put it on her, 95 

That she wore when she was wed.'* 
Then her people, softly treading. 

Bore to earth her body, drest 
In the dress that she was wed in. 

That her spirit might have rest. 100 



90 



58 FJRST STEPS lA ENGLISH CLASSICS. 



EXPLANATION OF THE GUIDE ANALYSIS. 

VIII. An Exe7'cise in Criticism. — Some attempt at critic 
cism should be made after a selection has been thoroughly 
studied. The object of such an exercise is not simply 
to find fault, or to condemn, but to train the student to 
express his own opinions upon certain prominent char- 
acteristics of the selection under consideration. 

It is not to be expected that there should be any learned 
or critical discussion of aesthetic points ; but it is to be 
hoped that both teacher and pupil, by familiar talks, may 
form a critical estimate, of more or less value, upon the 
merits or demerits of ordinary selections from the best 
English prose and poetry. 

For instance, pupils may be required to state in their 
own language what they consider the author's conception 
of a particular character to be, or his views on some 
important point. They may be required to state the 
impressions produced on them by reading the work, what 
they think its leading features are, or what they imagine 
to be the object which its author had in view in writing it. 
If there be a plot, its probability may be discussed. If 
the subject of the work be one which has been treated 
by other writers, the attention of the class should be 
directed to differences of treatment, and parallel passages 
should be cited. Numerous topics of a similar character 
will be suggested by every standard selection ; and the 
discussion of some of them, both orally and by written 
exercises, will form the best preparation for an attempt 
at a critical estimate of it. 

IX, Memory Quotations. — A few lines from each piece 



THE LORD OF BURLEIGH AS A MODEL, 59 

should be thoroughly committed to memory. Committing 
choice passages to memory is like sowing good seed in 
the ground, which brings forth, in after-years, a harvest 
both good and plenteous. It requires some little practice 
for the pupil to select the most suitable lines to commit. 
Explanation of the passages, both historical literary, and 
otherwise, may be made as circumstances demand. At- 
tention should also be paid to a correct and intelligent 
recitation of every selection. 

Each memory quotation should be carefully copied into 
a note-book used for this purpose, numbered, with the 
name of author, date of committing, etc. A complete 
record, ready for use in review and other exercises, is thus 
kept. These quotations should be frequently reviewed; 
and occasionally an entire lesson should be devoted solely 
to reciting aloud, with full explanations and comments, 
the lines committed during the work of a preceding 
month or term. 

After a little help from the teacher, the number of lines 
to be committed, and even the choice of quotations, may 
be wisely left to the good sense of the student. A few 
moments devoted, during every recitation, to this exercise, 
is better than taxing the memory with long quotations 
recited only occasionally. 

With advanced classes, some attempt should be made 
to note similar or parallel extracts from other authors. 
For instance, the germ of thought in Young's familiar 
line, — 

*' And men talk only to conceal the mind," — 

is found in Jeremy Taylor, Butler's ''Hudibras," Robert 
South, and Oliver Goldsmith. Again, familiar moral and 



6o /^/J^Sr STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

religious selections from Shakspeare, with parallel pas- 
sages from the Bible, are readily found, especially with 
the help of several works compiled for this purpose. 

Even as a few courteous words may serve to introduce 
us to some person whose subsequent friendship and inti- 
mate companionship may prove a lifelong blessing, so 
may the best thoughts of the best authors be the means 
of introducing us to the greatest names in our literature. 
Nay, more : from such humble beginnings may result a 
deep love for all that is good and true in books, and a sin- 
cere and ardent desire to read again and again the glowing 
pages of standard authors, as the school-years glide away, 
and the cares and responsibilities of after-life are taken 
up. 

Note. — " Poems and noble extracts, whether of verse or prose, 
once reduced into possession and rendered truly our own, may be to 
us a daily pleasure, — better far than a whole library unused. They 
come to us in our dull moments, to refresh us as with spring flowers ; 
in our selfish musings, to win us by pure delight from the tyranny 
of foolish castle-buUding, self-congratulations, and mean andeties. 
They may be ^\nth us in the workshop, in the crowded streets, by the 
fireside ; sometimes, perhaps, on pleasant hillsides, or by sounding 
shores. Noble friends and companions, — our own! .never intru- 
sive, ever at hand, coming at our caU ! Shakspeare, Milton, Words- 
worth, Tennyson, — the words of such men do not stale upon us, they 
do not grow old or cold." 

X. The Author of the Piece. — The time given to this 
topic should depend upon the age and capabilities of the 
student, and the means at hand for obtaining the neces- 
sary information. If, in addition to the texts, a : rJ 
or history of English literature is used, it is advis.\:.r :o 
devote one or more recitations to a study of the life a::d 



THE LORD OF BURLEIGH AS A MODEL. 6 1 

times of each standard author. The biography, after 
being prepared, may be recited both orally and in the 
form of an essay. 

Half a dozen or more different manuals may be some- 
times used. In this case, the leading facts concerning 
the several authors may be uniformly studied and recited 
by the aid of an ^^ outline of life." This, prepared before- 
hand by the teacher, is dictated to the class, or written 
on the blackboard. The teacher is enabled to fill in the 
necessary details by familiar talks. The student is ex- 
pected to take notes, which may be afterwards revised 
and copied into the note-book.' 

What shall be required, and what omitted, will depend 
upon the good sense and judgment of the pupil. Try to 
fix a few important points in English literary history, and 
to accumulate definite and trustworthy information about 
a few classic authors. 

EXAMPLE. 

Outline of Life: Robert Burns, 1759-96. — When 
and where born ; early education ; farming, and his love 
of nature ; writing poetry while at work on the farm ; his 
early loves ; his first volume published ; proposes to leave 
Scotland ; dissuaded from the attempt ; departure for Edin^ 
burgh in 1786; success and popularity; subsequent career; 

^ " In studying the life and times of each author, the student should look up 
infoimation everywhere; scraps from novels, like Scott's, from reviews and maga> 
zines, are not to be despised. The habit of investigating, and writing out results, 
makes the full man and the exact man at once ; it divests composition of ninety-nine 
parts of its horrors, and it quickens thought ninety-nine times as much as beating 
the brain for original brilliancies. If, however, books are not to be had, the teacher 
should give the needed facts and thoughts in a lecture ; and the student should take 
notes, and re-write." — Francis A. March, 



62 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS, 

death ; personal appearance ; his private character ; popu- 
larity as a man and a poet ; the secret of his greatness as 
a poet ; anecdotes. 

EXERCISE. 

With the preceding '* Outline of Life " for a guide^ 
prepare both an oral and a written biographical sketch of 
Robert Burns (see chap. xiv.). Test the work by answer- 
ing the following questions : — 

When and where was Burns born ? What celebrated work by Dr. John- 
son was published the same year? What great musician died the same year? 
In what circumstances were Burns's parents? Did his parents give their son 
any education ? Did Burns educate himself to any extent ? At what age 
did he begin to write poetry ? W^hat were some of his best early poems ? 
Can you regard Burns as an illustration of the adage, Poeta nascitur, iion 
fit? Illustrate this point fully by examples from literary history. Were 
his early poems popular ? How was his first volume received ? For what 
purpose was it published ? What induced him to go to Edinburgh ? How 
was he received by the famous men of that city ? What effect did this recep- 
tion have on Burns ? To what habit had he become addicted ? Did he ever 
overcome it? What office was given him in 1789? What kind of life did 
Burns lead after this ? Cause of his death ? Give particulars concerning 
his personal appearance. What was Scott's remark on this point ? What 
can you say of the popularity of his songs and poems? popularity as a 
man ? Are his writings popular to-day ? How^ will you account for this 
popularity ? Are his best works in his native dialect, or pure English ? 
Quote a few words and sentences from Burns which have become famous. 



EXAMPLE. 



Outline OF Life: Joseph Addison, 1672-1719. — • 
Birth ; school and college life ; first attempt at writing ; 
receives pension ; travels ; literary drudgery in London : 
^'The Campaign;" beginning of a brilliant career; '^Rosa- 
mond" and "The Drummer;" friendship with Steele; the 



THE LORD OF BURLEIGH AS A MODEL. 63 

"Tatler" and ''Spectator;" Cato ; marriage; secretary of 
state ; political and miscellaneous writings ; early death ; 
tastes and studies ; personal appearance, peculiarities, and 
noble character ; his great contemporaries ; secret of his 
popularity as a man and as an author ; anecdotes. 

EXERCISE. 

With the help of the preceding ''Outline," prepare a 
sketch of Joseph Addison (see chap. xix.). Test the work 
by the following questions : — 

When and where was Addison born? What do you know about his 
father? What famous author lived contemporary with Addison? What 
famous essayist, novelist, writer of fiction, writer of hymns, and two great 
poets lived in his day ? At what great school was he educated ? At this 
school he formed a lifelong friendship with a man always associated with 
" The Spectator : " who was he ? What do you know about "his private and 
literary life ? At w-hat university was Addison educated ? In what did he 
distinguish himself ? What was his first literary attempt ? To whom was 
this poem addressed? and with what result? What gained for him the 
attention of the court ? How was he rewarded ? Receiving a royal pension, 
where did he travel ? While Addison was living in obscurity in London, 
what memorable victory was gained by a famous soldier ? What poem did 
Addison write to celebrate this victory? What was the effect upon the 
public and its author ? Explain the transient popularity of "The Campaign." 
Can you think of any poems which have made their authors well known in 
a similar way? Why did the popularity of this poem soon cease? What 
peculiar passage from this poem has saved it from oblivion ? The victory of 
Blenheim was the subject of a popular poem by a great author : what is the 
poem ? and w*ho was the author ? 

To what political position was Addison chosen after writing this successful 
poem ? What writings followed ? How did he win his highest fame ? Who 
was Sir Richard Steele ? Give a short account of the origin of the " Tatler " 
and " Spectator." What men wrote for these periodicals ? During the sus- 
pension of the " Spectator," what tragecly did Addison bring out ? W^hat can 
you say of it as a whole, — of its transient popularity, and the cause for it ? 

What do you know of his unhappy marriage ? What high political office 
did he now receive ? What was the name of his residence ? and w^hy has it 
been so celebrated? AX what age did Addison die? What w^ere some of 



64 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

his peculiarities as a man ? as an author ? Of all his writings, what have 
maintained their popularity? In what does the charm consist? Are his 
paraphrases well known ? Are they printed in hymn-books of all denomina- 
tions ? Why so ? 

\Yhat was the state of English society when the "Spectator" appeared? 
How will you explain the enthusiasm with which the " Spectator " w^as 
received? How will you account for its present popularity? Do you 
remember Dr. Johnson's familiar reference to the elegant style of Addison? 



EXERCISES. 



With the guide analysis of '' The Lord of Burleigh " 
for a model, return to the texts of the following poems : — 

I. Longfellow's Wreck of the Hesperus. 2. Southey's Inchcape Rock. 
3. Wordsworth's We are Seven. 4. Bryant's White-Footed Deer. 5. Ten- 
nyson's Dora. 6. Longfellow's Norman Baron. 7. Scott's Rosabelle. 
8. Campbell's Lord Ullin's Daughter. 9. Southey's Battle of Blenheim. 
10. Whittier's Gift of Tritemius. 11. Tenn3'Son's Lady Clare. 

Eight points in the guide analyses of these eleven poems 
have been explained (pp. 12, 33). Now we are ready to 
study each of these poems with reference to the two 
points added to the guide analysis of ''The Lord oi 
Burleigh." 

WRITTEN EXERCISES. 

Write a biographical sketch of the following authors, 
one or more of whose productions we have studied : — 

I. Henry W. Longfellow, author of The Wreck of the Hesperus, The 
Norman Baron, etc. 2. Robert wSouthey, author of The Inchcape Rock. 
3. William Wordsworth, author of We are Seven. 4. AVilltam Cul- 
LEN Bryant, author of The White-Footed Deer. 5. John G. Whittier, 
author of The Gift of Tritemius. 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY, 6$ 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY. 

If the plan of study, suggested and explained in the 
preceding pages, has been carefully carried out in all its 
essential details, the student is now prepared to take one 
more step in advance, and to begin work upon longer and 
more difficult poems. The main thing aimed at in any 
detailed plan of study is to lead the pupil to clearly and 
fully understand the meaning of the author, and to appre- 
ciate more thoroughly the worth and beauty of his thoughts 
and language. All helps should be strictly subordinated 
to this great aim. 

The following poems should be studied on the same 
general pian, modified in its details as circumstances may 
require. 

INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP. 

ROBERT BROWNING. 

You know, we French stormed Ratisbon : 

A mile or so away. 
On a little mound. Napoleon 

Stood on our storming day ; 
With neck out- thrust, — you fancy how, — 5 

Legs wide, arms locked behind, 
As if to balance the prone brow 

Oppressive with its mind. 

Just as perhaps he mused, " My plans, 

That soar, to earth may fall, Jo 

Let once my army-leader Lannes 
Waver at yonder wall," — 



66 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

Out 'twixt the battery smokes there flew 

A rider, bound on bound 
Full galloping ; nor bridle drew *5 

Until he reached the mound. 

Then off there flung in smiling joy, 

And held himself erect 
By just his horse's mane, a boy : 

You hardly could suspect — - 20 

(So tight he kept his lips compressed, 

Scarce any blood came through) 
You looked twice ere you saw his breast 

Was all but shot in two. 

" Well," cried he, '^ Emperor, by God's grace 25 

We've got you Ratisbon ! 
The marshal's in the market-place, 

And you'll be there anon 
To see your flag-bird flap his vans 

Where I, to heart's desire, 3° 

Perched him ! " The chief's eye flashed ; his plans 

Soared up again like fire. 

The chief's eye flashed ; but presently 

Softened itself, as sheathes 
A film the mother-eagle's eye 35 

When her bruised eaglet breathes : 
"You're wounded ! " — '' Nay," the soldier's pride 

Touched to the quick, he said : 
" I'm killed, sire ! " And his chief beside, 

Smiling, the boy fell dead. 40 



SELECTIONS EOR STUDY, 6y 



IN THE CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL. 

EMMIE. 

ALFRED TENNYSON. 

I. 

Our doctor had called in another, I never had seen him before, 
But he sent a chill to my heart when I saw him come in at the 

door, 
Fresh from the surgery-schools of France and of other lands — 
Harsh red hair, big voice, big chest, big merciless hands ! 
Wonderful cures he had done, oh, yes, but they said too of him, 5 
He was happier using the knife than in trying to save the hmb ; 
And that I can well believe, for he looked so coarse and so red, 
I could think he was one of those who would break their jests on 

the dead, 
And mangle the living dog that had loved him and fawned at his 

knee — 
Drenched with the hellish oorali — that ever such things should 

be ! 10 

II. 

Here was a boy — I am sure that some of our children would die 
But for the voice of Love, and the smile, and the comforting eye — 
Here was a boy in the ward, every bone seemed out of its place — 
Caught in a mill and crushed — it was all but a hopeless case : 
And he handled him gently enough ; but his voice and his face 

were not kind, ^5 

And it was but a hopeless case, he had seen it and made up his 

mind ; 
And he said to me roughly, '"'The lad will need httle more of 

your care." 
"All the more need," I told him, ^'to seek the Lord Jesus in 

prayer : 



68 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

They are all his children here,, and I pray for them all as my 

own." 
But he turned to me, '^ Ay, good woman, can prayer set a broken 

bone?" 20 

Then he muttered half to himself, but I know that I heard him 

say, 
'^ All very well — but the good Lord Jesus has had his day." 

III. 

Had ? has it come ? It has only dawned. It will come by and 

by. 
Oh, how could I serve in the wards if the hope of the world were 

a lie? 
How could I bear with the sights and the loathsome smells of 

disease, 25 

But that He said, ^^ Ye do it to me, when ye do it to these " ? 

IV. 

So he went. And we passed to this ward where the younger 

children are laid. 
Here is the cot of our orphan, our darling, our meek little maid ; 
Empty you see just now ! We have lost her who loved her so 

much, — 
Patient of pain, though as quick as a sensitive-plant to the touch. 
Hers was the prettiest prattle ; it often moved me to tears. 
Hers was the gratefullest heart I have found in a child of her 

years — 
Nay, you remember our Emmie ; you used to send her the 

flowers. 
How she would smile at 'em, play with 'em, talk to 'em hours 

after hours ! 
They that can wander at will where the works of the Lord are 

revealed, 35 

Little guess what joy can be got from a cowslip out of the field; 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY. 69 

Flowers to these ^^ spirits in prison " are all they can know of the 

spring ; 
They freshen and sweeten the wards like the waft of an angel's 

wing. 
And she lay with a flower in one hand, and her thin hands crossed 

on her breast, — 
Wan, but as pretty as heart can desire, and we thought her at 

rest, 40 

Quietly sleeping — so quiet, our doctor said, " Poor little dear ! 
Nurse, I must do it to-morrow ; she'll never Uve through it, I 

fear." 



I walked with our kindly old doctor as far as the head of the stair, 
Then I returned to the ward ; the child didn't see I was there. 

VI. 

Never since I was nurse had I been so grieved and so vext ! 45 
Emmie had heard him. Softly she called from her cot to the 

next, — 
" He says I shall never live through it ; O Annie, what shall I 

do?" 
Annie considered. ^^ If I," said the wise little Annie, 'Svas you, 
I should cry to the dear Lord Jesus to help me ; for, Emmie, you 

see 
It's all in the picture there: 'Little children should -come to 

me.' " 50 

(Meaning the print that you gave us. I find that it always can 

please 
Our children, — the dear Lord Jesus with children about his 

knees.) 
''Yes, and I will," said Emmie, " but then if I call to the Lord, 
How should he know that it's me? such a Jot o( beds in the 

ward ! " 



yo FIRST STEPS IX EXGLISH CLASSICS. 

That was a puzzle for Annie. Again she considered, and said : i^ 
"Emmie, you put out your arms, and you leave 'em outside on 
the bed ; 

The Lord has so ??iuch to see to ! but, Emmie, you tell it him 

plain, — 
It's the little girl with her arms lying out on the counterpane.'' 

VII. 

I had sat three nights by the child, I could not watch her for 

four ; 
Mv brain had bes-un to reel. I felt I could do it no more. 60 

That was my sleeping-night, but I thought that it never would 

pass. 
There was a thunder-clap once, and a clatter of hail on the glass, 
And there was a phantom cry that I heard as I tossed about, 
The motherless bleat of a lamb in the storm and the darkness 

without. 
My sleep was broken besides with dreams of the dreadful knife, 65 
And fears for our delicate Emmie, who scarce would escape with 

her life. 
Then in the gray of the morning, it seemed she stood by me and 

smiled. 
And the doctor came at his hour, and we went to see to the child. 

VIII. 

He had brought his ghastly tools : we believed her asleep again, 
Her dear, long, lean, little arms lying out on the counterpane. 70 
Say that His day is done i Ah, why should we care what they 

say ? 
The Lord of the children had heard her, and Emmie had passed 

away. 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY, 71 

LOCHINVAR. 

SIR WALTER SCOTT. 

O YOUNG Lochinvar is come out of the west, 

Through all the wide Border his steed was the best, 

And save his good broadsword he weapons had none ; 

He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. 

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, 5 

There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. 

He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone, 

He swam the Eske river where ford there was none ; 

But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate. 

The bride had consented, the gallant came late : lo 

For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, 

Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. 

So boldly he entered the Netherby hall, 

Among bride 's-men and kinsmen, and brothers, and all ; 

Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, 15 

(For the poor craven bridegroom spoke never a word), 

'' O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war. 

Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar? '^ 

'' I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied : 

Love swells like the Sol way, but ebbs like its tide ; 20 

And now I am come, with this lost love of mine, 

To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 

There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far 

That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.*' 

The bride kissed the goblet ; the knight took it up, 25 

He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup ; 



J 2 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS, 

She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, 

With a smile on her Hps and a tear in her eye. 

He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, — 

*' Now tread we a measure 1 " said young Lochinvar. 30 

So stately his form, and so lovely her face. 

That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; 

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume. 

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume ; 

And the bride-maidens whispered, " 'Twere better by far 35 

To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." 

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear. 

When they reached the hall- door, and the charger stood near : 

So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung ! 

So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! 40 

'' She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur ! 

They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar. 

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan : 

Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran ; 

There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee ; 45 

But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. 

So daring in love and so dauntless in war^ 

Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar? 



THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW. 

ALFRED TENNYSON. 

Banner of England, not for a season, O banner of Britain, hast 

thou 
Floated in conquering battle, or flapped to the battle-cry ! 
Never with mightier glory than when we had reared thee on high, 
Flying at top of the roofs in the ghastly siege of Lucknow ; 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY. 73 

Shot through the staff or the halyard, but ever we raised thee 
anew, 5 

And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew. 

Frail were the works that defended the hold that we held with our 

lives, — 
Women and children among us, God help them, our children and 

wives ! 
Hold it we might, — and for fifteen days, or for twenty at most. 
'' Never surrender, I charge you, but every man die at his 

post ! " 10 

Voice of the dead whom we loved, — our Lawrence, the best of 

the brave : 
Cold were his brows when we kissed him, — we laid him that 

night in his grave. 
" Every man die at his post ! " and there hailed on our houses 

and halls 
Death from their rifle-bullets, and death from their cannon-balls. 
Death in our innermost chamber, and death at our slight barricade, 
Death while we stood with the musket, and death while we stooped 

to the spade. 
Death to the dying, and wounds to the wounded, for often there fell. 
Striking the hospital wall, crashing through it, their shot and their 

shell ; 
Death, — for their spies were among us, their marksmen were told 

of our best. 
So that the brute bullet broke through the brain that could think 

for the rest. 20 

Bullets would sing by our foreheads, and bullets would rain at our 

feet; 
Fire from ten thousand at once of the rebels that girdled us round ; 
Death at the ghmpse of a finger from over the breadth of a street ; 
Death from the heights of the mosque and the palace, and death 

in the ground ! 



74 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

Mine ? Yes, a mine ! Countermine ! down, down ! and creep 
through the hole ; 25 

Keep the revoker in hand ! you can hear him, — the murderous 
mole ! 

Quiet, ah, quiet ! wait till the point of the pickaxe be through ! 

Click with the pick, coming nearer and nearer again than before ; 

Now let it speak, and you fire, and the dark pioneer is no 
more ; 

And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew. 30 

Ay, but the foe sprung his mine many times, and it chanced on a 

day, 
Soon as the blast of that underground thunder-clap echoed away, 
Dark through the smoke and the sulphur, like so many fiends in 

their hell, — 
Cannon-shot, musket-shot, volley on volley, and yell upon yell. 
Fiercely on all the defences our myriad enemy fell. 35 

What have they done? where is it? Out v^onder. Guard the 

Redan ! 
Storm at the Water-gate ! storm at the Bailey-gate ! storm ! and it 

ran 
Surging and swaying all round us, as ocean on every side 
Plunges and heaves at a bank that is daily drowned by the 

tide, — 
So many thousands that, if they be bold enough, who shall escape ? 
Kill or be killed, live or die, they shall know we are soldiers and 

men ! 
Ready ! take aim at their leaders ; their masses are gapped with 

our grape : 
Backward they reel like the wave, like the wave flinging forward 

again, 
Flying and foiled at the last by the handful they could not sub- 
due j 
And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew. 45 



SELECTIO.YS FOR STUDY, 75 

Handful of men as we were, we were English in heart and in limb ; 
Strong with the strength of the race to command, to obey, to 

endure ; 
Each of us fought as if hope for the garrison hung but on him ; 
Still — could we watch at all points ? We were every day fewer 

and fewer. 
There was a whisper among us, but only a whisper that passed : 50 
" Children and wives, — if the tigers leap into the fold unawares, 
Every man die at his post, and the foe may outlive us at last, — 
Better to fall by the hands that they love than to fall into 

theirs ! " 
Roar upon roar, in a moment two mines by the enemy sprung 
Clove into perilous chasms our walls and our poor palisades. 55 
Rifleman, true is your heart, but be sure that your hand be as true ! 
Sharp is the fire of assault, better aimed are your flank fusillades ; 
Twice do we hurl them to earth from the ladders to which they 

had clung, 
Twice from the ditch where they shelter we drive them with hand- 
grenades ; 
And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew. 60 

Then on another wild morning another wild earthquake out-tore 
Clean from our lines of defence ten or twelve good paces or 

more. 
Rifleman, high on the roof, hidden there from the light of the sun. 
One has leapt up on the breach, crying out, '' Follow me, follow 

me ! " 
Mark him, he falls ! then another, and him too, and down goes he. 
Had they been bold enough then, who can tell but the traitors 

had won ? 
Boardings and rafters and doors — an embrasure ! make way for 

the gun ! 
Now double-charge it with grape ! It is charged, and we fire, 

and they run 1 



76 r/J^ST STEPS IX EXGLISH CLASSICS. 

Praise to our Indian brothers, and let the dark face have his 

due ; 
Thanks to the kindly dark faces who fought with us faithful and 

few. — - : 

Fought with the bravest among us. and drove them, and smote 

them, and slew, 
That ever upon the topmost roof our banner in India blew. 

]\Ien will forget what we suiter, and not what we do. We can 

fight r 

But to be soldier all day, and be sentinel all through the night, — 
Ever the mine and assault, our sallies, their \jmg alarms. 75 

Bugles and drums in the darkness, and shoutings and soundings to 

arms. 
Ever the labor of fifty that had to be done by five, 
E\ er the marvel among us that one should be left alive, 
E\ er the day v\dth its traitorous death fi-om the loopholes around. 
Ever the night with its comnless corpse to be laid in the 

ground, 80 

Heat like the mouth of hell, or a deluge of cataract skies, 
Stench of old onal decaying, and innnite torment of flies. 
Thoughts of the breezes of A[:.y ":'_:-,ving over an English neld. 
Cholera, scur\T, and fever, tiie v ^- - • \v// not be healed. 

Lopping away of the limb by t:_ .c-- ^^nife, — S5 

Torture and trouble in vain, for it never could sa\ e us a Ufe, 
Valor of delicate wome 

Horror of women in tra __ _ o ^ ^ 

Grief for our perishing children, j.i::'- r.cver a moment for grief. 
Toil and ineffable weariness, fahrr: _ iiopes of relief; 90 

Havelock baffled, or beaten, or :: :-"^ for all that we knew. — 
Then day and night, day :. : ■ ::_ .:ng down on the still- 

shattered walls. 
Millions of musket-buUets, and thousands of cann n-': ills. — 
But ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew. 



SELECTIOXS FOR STUDY, yy 

Hark ! Cannonade, fusillade ! Is it true what was told by the 
scout, — 95 

Outram and Havelock breaking their way through the fell muti- 
neers ? 
Surely the pibroch of Europe is ringing again in our ears ! 
All on a sudden the garrison utter a jubilant shout, — 
Havelock's glorious Highlanders answer with conquering cheers. 
Sick from the hospital echo them, women and children come out, 
Blessing the wholesome white faces of Havelock's good fusileers. 
Kissing the war-hardened hand of the Highlander wet with their 

tears. 
Dance to the pibroch ! — saved, we are saved ! is it you ? is it 

you ? 
Saved by the valor of Havelock, saved by the blessing of Heaven ! 
'' Hold it for fifteen days ! " we have held it for eighty-seven ! 105 
And ever aloft on the palace-roof the old banner of England blew. 

THE BATTLE OF IVRY. 

LORD MACAULAY. 

Now glory to the Lord of hosts, from whom all glories are ! 
And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre ! 
Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance, 
Through thy cornfields green, and sunny vines, O pleasant land of 

France ! 
And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters, 5 
Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters. 
As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy ; 
For cold and stiff and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy. 
Hurrah, hurrah ! a single field hath turned the chance of war, 
Hurrah, hurrah for Ivry and King Henry of Navarre ! 10 

Oh, how our hearts were beating, when, at the dawn of day, 
We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array, 



yS FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

With all its priest-led citizens and all its rebel peers, 
And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears ! 
There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land ; 15 
And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand ; 
And, as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled flood. 
And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood ; 
And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war. 
To fight for his own holy name and Henry of Navarre. 20 

The King is come to marshal us, in all his armor drest ; 

And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest. 

He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye ; 

He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high. 

Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing, 25 

Down all our hne, in deafening shout, " God save our lord the 

King ! '' 
'' And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may, — - 
For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray, — 
Press where ye see my white plume shine amidst the ranks of 

war. 
And be your oriflamme to-day the helmet of Navarre." 30 

Hurrah ! the foes are moving ! Hark to the mingled din 

Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin ! 

The fiery Duke is pricking fast across St. Andre's plain. 

With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne. 

Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France, 35 

Charge for the golden lilies now, — upon them with the lance ! 

A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest, 

A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white 

crest ; 
And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding 

star, 
Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre. 40 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY. 79 

Now God be praised, the day is ours ! Mayenne hath turned his 

rein ; 
D'Aumale hath cried for quarter ; the Flemish count is slain. 
Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale ; 
The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven 

mail. 
And then we thought on vengeance ; and all along our van, 45 

'^ Remember St. Bartholomew," was passed from man to man. 
But out spake gentle Henry then : " No Frenchman is my foe : 
Down, down with every foreigner, but let your brethren go." 
Oh ! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war, 
As our sovereign lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre ! 50 

Right well fought all the Frenchmen who fought for France 

to-day ; 
Axid many a lordly banner God gave them for a prey. 
But we of the religion have borne us best in fight ; 
And the good Lord of Rosny hath ta'en the cornet white. 
Our own true Maximihan the cornet white hath ta'en, — 55 

The cornet white with crosses black, the flag of false Lorraine. 
Up with it high, unfurl it wide, that all the host may know 
How God hath humbled the proud house which wrought his 

Church such woe. 
Then on the ground, while trumpets sound their loudest points of 

war, 
Fhng the red shreds, a foot-cloth meet for Henry of Navarre. 60 

Ho, maidens of Vienna ! Ho, matrons of Lucerne ! 

Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall 

return. 
Ho, Phihp ! send for charity thy Mexican pistoles, 
That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's 

souls. 



80 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

Ho, gallant nobles of the League ! look that your arms be bright ; 
Ho, burghers of St. Genevieve ! keep watch and ward to-night. 
For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the 

slave, 
And mocked the counsel of the wise and the valor of the brave. 
Then glory to his holy name, from whom all glories are ! 
And glory to our sovereign lord. King Henry of Navarre ! 70 



WRITTEN EXERCISES. 

Write a biographical sketch of the follovv^ing authors, 
one or more of whose productions we have studied : — 

I. Sir Walter Scott, author of Rosabelle. 2. Thomas Campbell, 
author of Lord Ullin's Daughter. 3. Alfred Tennyson, author of Lady 
Clare. 4. Robert Browning, author of Incident of the French Camp. 
5. Lord Macaulay, author of The Battle of Ivry. 



ADDITIONAL PIECES FOR STUDY. 

Longfellow's Phantom Ship, Falcon of Ser Federigo, 
Birds of Killingworth, Bells of Atri ; Tennyson's Enoch 
Arden; Whittier's Conductor Bradley, Two Rabbis, 
Legend of St. Mark ; Bryant's Planting of the Apple- 
Tree, Two Travellers; Cowper's John Gilpin, Alexander 
Selkirk; Campbell's Battle of the Baltic, Soldier's Dream, 
Napoleon and the British Sailor. 



THE STUDY OF A PROSE SELECTION, 



CHAPTER V. 

OUTLINES FOR THE STUDY OF A PROSE SELECTION. 

Thus far in this book we have confined our attention 
to the study of standard poems. We are now prepared to 
begin a similar work in prose selections. To insure 
good results, some definite plan of study must first be 
arranged. In a general way prose selections need less 
methods and devices than poetry to lead pupils to appre- 
ciate and admire them. 

We present the following guide analysis for the study 
of a prose selection. Several of its points have been fully 
explained in the foregoing chapters ; hence it will not be 
necessary to repeat the detailed explanation already given. 



GUIDE ANALYSIS FOR THE STUDY OF A PROSE 
SELECTION. 

I. Read the piece carefully and thoughtfully, 

II. Recite the story of the piece. 

III. Write a paraphrase of the piece. 

IV. Divide the selection into parts or scenes. 
V. The unity of the parts. 

VI. Minor details which illustrate the piece. 

VII. The study of the text. 

VIII. An exercise in criticism. 

IX. Memory quotations. 

X. The author of the piece. 



82 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 



EXPLANATION OP THE GUIDE ANALYSIS. 

Read the Piece cai'efiilly and thoughtfully,- — This point 
has been fully explained. See p. 12. 

Recite the Story of the Piece. — In many prose pieces, 
as in many poems, it is not practicable to attempt to tell 
the story ; in fact, there is oftentimes very little of a 
"story'' to tell (See p. 12). Hence, in prose selections this 
direction may be omitted at the discretion of the teacher. 

Wi'ite a Pai'aphrase of the Piece, — In a general way 
follow the directions as fully explained on p. 33. 

Divide tJie Selection into Parts or Scenes. See p. 34. 

The Unity of the Parts. — Whenever it can be done 
conveniently, follow the directions as explained on p. 35. 
In many prose pieces, however, it is not always advisable 
or practicable. 

Minor Details which illustrate the Poem. — - There will 
be found ample material for exact, useful, and interesting 
study, in a full knowledge of the allusions which occur so 
plentifully in all standard writings. No difficult point in 
syntax, prosody, accidence, or pronunciation, no variation 
in manners or customs, no historical or geographical allu- 
sion, should be passed over without explanation. Special 
pains must be taken to get a thorough understanding of 
the force and character of epithets, the meaning of similes^ 
the expansions of metaphors, and the exact meaning of 
individual words. See p. 36. 

Tlie Study of tJie Text. — Follow the general directions 
as given on pp. 13, 36. 

An Exercise in Criticism. — (See p. 58.) This is one 
point upon which it is impossible to give short rules, and 



THE STUDY OF A PROSE SELECTION. 83 

on which, nevertheless, stress should be laid. The amount 
and completeness of criticism, which can be usefully 
employed, will depend on the capacity of teacher and 
pupil ; at the same time, no author can be satisfactorily 
studied unless the student's attention is drawn to his 
chief peculiarities of thought and language, to the place 
he occupies in the history of literature, and the influences 
which seem to have affected him most. 

Memory Quotations.'' — Seep. 58. 

The Author of the Piece. — (See p. 14.) The life and 
times of the author should be studied, and the connection 
between the characteristic features of the literature of 
his era, and the general history of the period, developed. 
Any illustrations of the modes of thought, manners^ 
customs, political views, etc., of the period, that can be 
drawn from his pages, should be brought to the attention 
of the class. 

Not only the life of the special author whom we are 
studying, but also the lives of his friends, rivals, and 
otherwise connected contemporaries, should be carefully 
examined. 



^ " To what extent shall the memory be called upon in the study of English 
literature? Not, I think, to commit long passages, whole books, and cantos of 
poems. Let the pupil absorb as much as possible in frequent reading and in study. 
Now and then, let a few striking lines, that have been learned by heart rather than 
committed to 7Jiemory, be recited. Do not make a disagreeable task of any such 
exercise. For, that our pupils may receive the highest and best influence from this 
study of English literature, it is essential that they love it, and retain only pleas- 
ant memories of the hours spent at school in the society of its best authors." — 

L. R. WiLLISTON. 



84 



FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 



A METHOD OF CLASS EXERCISES IN BNGUBH 

LITERATURE 



The 



I. s\-. 



:n^ excellent s u^^r-:: : :.- will prove helpfuL 
, :. _::ii2- of tiie ^3^ exerdse, or as often as need be. 



• ::- :' 7 ' '- i-oem, oralioiL, play, 
? canto, cbapter, arty 

- liaTe the pnpOs do it) the finest 

r elooDLltionaij talent of tlie dass 
■ ■: may appear at his best 

f 7 tlie whole firesh in mem 
:cession of topics, vs^ to 



require as: : — 

(tf)The-- - : .:- ;f ::- - :: 
orotiberpi: 
% The 

or other di" 5 ; ; :: :: :':.t .... 

2. Read :: :r::-7 :.;:.-. :.-.t..-.;: 
partorpar:s :: ..t ; - ': : 
should be utilized licre, so tiiai i • 

3- Reqnire at times -rftez er.: 
oiy) a risuwii of the ' • '^: ^iiz z :. : 
the |»esent lesson. 

4. Let tlie student lead alond tiie sentence, paiagra|>h, or lines, now 
(or previously) assigned. The appointed portion should have some 
unity. 

5. If the passage is iEne, let the student interpret eicactlj the mean- 
ing by substituting his own words ; explain peculiarities. This para- 
phiase should often be in writing. 

6l Immediate object of the author in &ese lines? Is this object 
relevant ? important? appropriate in tMs place ? 

7- Ingredients ':: 2 rr^ cm la r tiboughts) that :r:'.T . ' t 55 .,t- 
Are they in goc i : 1 5 : e ? just ? natmal ? well :. :. . ^7 . ; . r . . : 

superfluous ? 

8. Point out other merits or defects; any thing noteworthy as re- 
gards nobleness of principle or sentiment, grac^e,, delicacy, beauty, 
rhjrthm, sublimity, wit, wisdom, humor, maiweti^ kindness, pathos, 
energy, concentrated truth, Ic^cal force, originality, allusions, kindred 
passages, principles iflustxated, etc 



SELECTIONS EOR STUDY. 85 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY. 

The following prose selections, taken from the works 
of standard authors, are now to be studied somewhat after 
the plan suggested in the preceding guide analysis. 
Other pieces equally good may be readily found in 
advanced reading-books or works of selections. 

Every good teacher will have a method of his own for 
handling a prose piece in the class-room ; hence it is not 
to be supposed that the preceding plan, and its sugges- 
tions, will be literally followed. We have simply under- 
taken to suggest some general principles of method, 
together with a few practical hints of details, rather than 
to dictate any formal course of procedure. 



THE VOYAGE. 

WASHINGTON IRVING. 

[From " The Sketch-Book."] 

" Ships, ships, 1 will descrie you 
Amidst the main, 
I will come and try you, 
What you are protecting, 
And projecting. 

What's your end and aim. 
One goes abroad for merchandise and trading, 
Another stays to keep his country from invading, 
A third is coming home with rich and wealthy lading. 
Halloo ! my fancie, whither wilt thou go ? " — Old Poem. 

To an American visiting Europe, the long voyage he has to 
make is an excellent preparative. The temporary absence of 
worldly scenes and employments produces a state of mind pecul- 
iarly fitted to receive new and vivid impressions. The vast space 



86 FIRST STEPS I A' ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

of waters that separates the hemispheres is Hke a blank page in 
existence. There is no gradual transition by which, as in Europe, 
the features and population of one country blend almost imper- 
ceptibly with those of another. From the moment you lose sight 
of the land you have left, all is vacancy until you step on the 
opposite shore, and are launched at once into the bustle and 
novelties of another world. 

In travelling by land there is a continuity of scene, and a con- 
nected succession of persons and incidents that carry on the story 
of life, and lessen the effect of absence and separation. We 
drag, it is true, '' a lengthening chain," at each remove of our 
pilgrimage ; but the chain is unbroken, we can trace it back link 
by link, and we feel that the last still grapples us to home. But 
a wide sea-voyage severs us at once. It makes us conscious of 
being cast loose from the secure anchorage of settled life, and 
sent adrift upon a doubtful world. It interposes a gulf, not merely 
imaginary, but real, between us and our homes, — a gulf subject 
to tempest and fear and uncertainty, rendering distance palpable, 
and return precarious. 

Such, at least, was the case with myself. As I saw the last blue 
line of my native land fade away like a cloud in the horizon, it 
seemed as if I had closed one volume of the world and its con- 
tents, and had time for meditation before I opened another. That 
land, too, now vanishing from my view^, which contained all most 
dear to me in life, — what vicissitudes might occur in it, what 
changes might take place in me, before I should visit it again ! 
Who can tell, when he sets forth to wander, whither he may be 
driven by the uncertain currents of existence, or when he may 
return, or whether it may ever be his lot to revisit the scenes of 
his childhood ? 

I said that at sea all is vacancy : I should correct the expres- 
sion. To one given to day-dreaming, and fond of losing himself 
in reveries, a sea- voyage is full of subjects for meditation ; but 
'hen they are the wonders of the deep and of the air, and rather 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY. Zj 

tend to abstract the mind from worldly themes. I delighted to 
loll over the quarter-railing, or climb to the main-top, of a calm 
day, and muse for hours together on the tranquil bosom of a 
summer's sea; to gaze upon the piles of golden clouds just peer- 
ing above the horizon, fancy them some fairy realms, and people 
them with a creation of my own ; to watch the gentle undulating 
billows, rolling their silver volumes as if to die away on those 
happy shores. 

There was a delicious sensation of mingled security and aw^e 
with which I looked down, from my giddy height, on the monsters 
of the deep at their uncouth gambols, — shoals of porpoises 
tumbling about the bow of the ship ; the grampus slowly heaving 
his huge form above the surface ; or the ravenous shark, darting 
like a spectre through the blue waters. My imagination w^ould 
conjure up all that I had heard or read of the watery world be- 
neath me, — of the finny herds that roam its fathomless valleys, of 
the shapeless monsters that lurk among the very foundations 
of the earth, and of those wild phantasms that swell the tales of 
fishermen and sailors. 

Sometimes a distant sail, gliding along the edge of the ocean, 
would be another theme of idle speculation. How interesting 
this fragment of a world, hastening to rejoin the great mass of 
existence ! What a glorious monument of human invention, which 
has in a manner triumphed over wind and wave ; has brought the 
ends of the world into communion ; has established an inter- 
change of blessings, pouring into the sterile regions of the North 
all the luxuries of the South ; has diffused the light of knowledge 
and the charities of cultivated life ; and has thus bound together 
those scattered portions of the human race, between which Na- 
ture seemed to have thrown an insurmountable barrier ! 

We one day descried some shapeless object drifting at a dis- 
tance. At sea, every thing that breaks the monotony of the sur- 
rounding expanse attracts attention. It proved to be the mast 
of a ship that must have been completely wrecked ; for there 



88 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

were the remains of handkerchiefs, by. which some of the crew 
had fastened themselves to this spar, to prevent their being 
washed off by the waves. There was no trace by which the name 
of the ship could be ascertained. The wreck had evidently 
drifted about for many months ; clusters of shell-fish had fastened 
about it, and long sea-weeds flaunted at its sides. But where, 
thought I, is the crew ? Their struggle has long been over, — 
they have gone down amidst the roar of the tempest, — their 
bones He whitening among the caverns of the deep. Silence, 
oblivion, like the waves, have closed over them, and no one can 
tell the story of their end. What sighs have been wafted after 
that ship ! what prayers offered up at the deserted fireside of 
home. How often has the mistress, the wife, the mother, pored 
over the daily news, to catch some casual intelligence of this rover 
of the deep ! How has expectation darkened into anxiety, — 
anxiety into dread, — and dread into despair ! Alas ! not one 
memento may ever return for love to cherish. All that may ever 
be known is that she sailed from her port, " and was never heard 
of more ! " 

The sight of this wreck, as usual, gave rise to many dismal 
anecdotes. This was particularly the case in the evening, when 
the weather, which had hitherto been fair, began to look wild and 
threatening, and gave indications of one of those sudden storms 
which will sometimes break in upon the serenity of a summer 
voyage. As we sat round the dull light of a lamp in the cabin, 
that made the gloom more ghastly, every one had his tale of ship- 
wreck and disaster. I was particularly struck with a short one 
related by the captain. 

"As I was once sailing," said he, "in a fine stout ship across 
the Banks of Newfoundland, one of those heavy fogs which pre- 
vail in those parts rendered it impossible for us to see far ahead 
even in the daytime ; but at night the weather was so thick that 
we could not distinguish any object at twice the length of the 
ship. I kept lights at the mast-head, and a constant watch forward 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY. 89 

to look out for fishing smacks, which are acc^istomed to lie at 
anchor on the Banks. The wind was blowing a smacking breeze, 
and we were going at a great rate through the water. Suddenly 
the watch gave the alarm of ' A sail ahead ! * It was scarcely 
uttered before we were upon her. She was a small schooner, at 
anchor, with her broadside towards us. The crew were all asleep, 
and had neglected to hoist a light. We struck her just amidships. 
The force, the size, and weight of our vessel bore her down below 
the waves. We passed over her, and were hurried on our course. 
As the crashing wreck was sinking beneath us, I had a glimpse of 
two or three half-naked wretches rushing from her cabin; they 
just staited from their beds to be swallowed shrieking by the 
waves. I heard their drowning cry mingling with the wind. The 
blast that bore it to our ears swept us out of all farther hearing. I 
shall never forget that cry ! It was some time before we could 
put the ship about, she was under such headway. We returned, 
as nearly as we could guess, to the place where the smack had 
anchored. We cruised about for several hours in the dense fog. 
We fired signal-guns, and listened if we might hear the halloo of 
any survivors ; but all was silent, — we never saw or heard any 
thing of them more." 

I confess these stories, for a time, put an end to all my fine 
fancies. The storm increased with the night. The sea was lashed 
into tremendous confusion. There was a fearful, sullen sound of 
rushing waves and broken surges. Deep called unto deep. At 
times the black volume of clouds overhead seemed rent asunder 
by flashes of lightning, which quivered along the foaming billows, 
and made the succeeding darkness doubly terrible. The thunders 
bellowed over the wild waste of waters, and were echoed and 
prolonged by the mountain waves. As I saw the ship staggering 
and plunging among these roaring caverns, it seemed miraculous 
that she regained her balance, or preserved her buoyancy. Her 
yards would dip into the water : her bow was almost buried be- 
neath the waves. Sometimes an impending surge appeared ready 



90 FIRST STEPS IX EXGLISH CLASSICS. 

to overwhelm her, and nothing but a dexterous movement of the 
hehii preserved her from the shock. 

When I retired to my cabin, the aw^ul scene still followed me. 
The whistling of the wind through the rigging sounded like funereal 
wailings. The creaking of the masts, the straining and groaning 
of bulkheads, as the ship labored in the weltering sea, were 
frightful. As I heard the waves rusliing along the sides of the 
ship, and roaring in my very ear, it seemed as if Death were 
raging round this floating prison, seeking for his prey ; the mere 
starting of a nail, the yawnmg of a seam, might give him en- 
trance. 

A fine day, however, with a tranquil sea and favoring breeze, 
soon put all these dismal reflections to flight. It is impossible to 
resist the gladdening influence of fine weather and fair wind at 
sea. When the ship is decked out m all her canvas, ever}- sail 
swelled, and careering gayly over the curUng waves^ how lotty, 
how gallant she appears, — how she seems to lord it over the 
deep ! 

I might fill a volume \^'ith the reveries of a sea-voyage, — for 
with me it is almost a continual rever}^, — but it is time to get to 
shore. 

It was a fine sunny morning when the tlirilling cry of " Land ! " 
was given from the mast-head. None but those who have experi- 
enced it can form an idea of the delicious throng of sensations 
which rush into an American's bosom when he first comes in sight 
of Europe. There is a volume of associations with the very 
name. It is the land of promise, teeming wdth every thing of 
which his childhood has heard, or on which his studious years 
have pondered. 

From that time until the moment of arrival, it was all feverish 
excitement. The ships of war, that prowled like guardian giants 
along the coast ; the headlands of Ireland, stretching out into the 
channel; the Welsh mountains, towering mto the clouds, — all 
were objects of intense interest. As w^e sailed up the Mersey, I 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY, 91 

reconnoitred the shores with a telescope. My eye dwelt with 
delight on neat cottages, with their trim shrubberies and green 
grass-plots. I saw the mouldering ruin of an abbey overrun 
with ivy, and the taper spire of a village church rising from 
the brow of a neighboring hill : all were characteristic of Eng- 
land. 

The tide and wind were so favorable that the ship was enabled 
to come at once to the pier. It was thronged with people ; some 
idle lookers-on, others eager expectants of friends or relatives. 1 
could distinguish the merchant to whom the ship was consigned. 
I knew him by his calculating brow and restless air. His hands 
were thrust into his pockets \ he was whistling thoughtfully, and 
walking to and fro, a small space having been accorded him by 
the crowd, in deference to his temporary importance. There were 
repeated cheerings and salutations interchanged between the shore 
and the ship, as friends happened to recognize each other. I 
particularly noticed one young woman of humble dress, but in- 
teresting demeanor. She was leaning forward from among the 
crowd ; her eye hurried over the ship as it neared the shore, to 
catch some wished-for countenance. She seemed disappointed 
and agitated, when I heard a faint voice call her name. It was 
from a poor sailor who had been ill all the voyage, and had excited 
the sympathy of every one on board. When the weather was 
fine, his messmates had spread a mattress for him on deck in the 
shade ; but of late his illness had so increased, that he had taken 
to his hammock, and only breathed a wish that he might see his 
wife before he died. 

He had been helped on deck as we came up the river, and was 
now leaning against the shrouds, with a countenance so w^asted, 
so pale, and so ghastly, that it is no wonder even the eye of 
affection did not recognize him. But at the sound of his voice 
her eye darted on his features, it read at once a whole volume 
of sorrow ; she clasped her hands, uttered a faint shriek, and 
stood wringing them in silent agony. 



92 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

All now was hurry and bustle, — the meeting of acquaintances, 
the greetings of friends, the consultations of men of business. I 
alone was solitary and idle. I had no friend to meet, no cheering 
to receive. I stepped upon the land of my forefathers, but felt 
that I was a stranger in the land. 



QrESTIONS ON THE VOYAGE. 

[From Sprague's *' Six Selections from Irving's Sketch-Book."] 

What is the gulf that a voyage interposes between us and our homes ? 
What words describe it? ** Whither he may be driven." Why i^ whither 
better than where? Which of them means to what place? Which of them 
means at or in what place ? " I said that at sea all is vacancy." Quote any 
previous passage containing this idea. What were some of the amusements 
of the voyage ? Day-dreaming "^ Looking down " on the monsters of the 
deep at their uncouth gambols " ? Watching a distant sail } Contemplating 
the object seen at a distance, — the mast of a wrecked ship? Story-telling? 
Any other? "Expectation, anxiety, dread, despair;" which expresses the 
strongest feeling ? How are the words arranged ? Define a climax. What 
" has brought the ends of the earth into communion " ? How ? Narrate in 
your own words the captain's story. Point out the most pathetic expressions 
in it. What does Irving say of the ship during the storm? Explain "how 
she seems to lord it over the deep ! " Contrast that with the description of 
her course during the storm. What were objects of interest as the ship 
approached the shore ? At what point did they land ? Describe the crowd 
on the pier. Who was the most important person there ? What pathetic 
incident is told? "I stepped upon the land of my forefathers." Who? 
Why land of m.y forefathers ? Express the idea of the last sentence in other 
words. 

Select nautical words or phrases in this sketch. Was the voyage made in 
a steamer, or in a sailing-vessel ? Give reasons for the answer. What 
is the general character of this sketch ? Description ? Commit to memory 
the paragraph beginning, *' We one day descried some shapeless object," 
etc. Select and commit to memory any other passage in the piece. Give 
your reason for your selection. What is the simple subject in the first 
sentence in this skistch ? TUe enJire subiect? 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY. 93 

EXERCISE. 

Write a biographical sketch of Washington Irving. 
(See chap, viii.) 

Test the work by answering the following questions : — 

QUESTIONS ON IRTING AND THE SKETCH-BOOK. 

Mention some facts in the early life of Irving. Mention a noteworthy 
Incident of his infancy. How did Irving conduct himself at school ? Plow 
did he lay a foundation for his literary career t What can you tell of his 
youthful rambles about Manhattan Island? What use did he afterward 
make of this information .'* What profession did he choose } What can you 
say of his first trip abroad.'* Mention some of the famous men he met. 
What did he try to do on his return t What was his first literary work ? 
The " Salmagundi Papers," and their success ? Mention the romantic 
episode which colored all his after-life. What was Irving's first decided 
literary success t Give some details about the work, and the reception it 
received. What sent Irving to Europe for the second time, in 181 5? With 
what success ? What induced him to adopt literature as a profession ? 
What lucrative offers did he decline .'' When was the first number of the 
" Sketch-Book " published .-* How was Irving forced to protect his interests 
in England ? In what way did Scott help Irving ? How was the " Sketch- 
Book " received .'* What famous literary persons became Irving's friends ? 
What was his second work, and how received ? His third in 1824? Where 
did Irving now take up his residence ? What works followed during the 
next six years, 1826-32.? When did Irving return to America? What 
extended tour did he make ? with what literary result ? Where did Irving 
select a home for himself? Did the place become a celebrated literary 
resort ? What famous persons made pilgrimages to " Sunnyside " ? What 
literary labors followed shortly after his return ? What great honor was 
conferred upon Irving in 1842 ? How did Irving pass the last years of his 
life ? What was his last literary labor ? When and where did Irving die ? 
Where buried ? What tributes were paid to his memory ? What was the 
secret of Irving's popularity as a writer ? What can you say of him as a 
man ? The prominent characteristics of his works ? What led Irving to 
write and publish the " Sketch-Book " ? Mention the titles of the different 
sketches. Which one is your favorite ? Why ? Are some of the papers 
founded upon the actual experience of the author? Which one has been 
dramatized ? by whom ? for whom ? Why was the book so popular in Eng- 
land ? What was the state of American literature at the time it was written ? 



94 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

WILLIAM THE SILENT. 

JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY. 
[From the " Rise of the Dutch Republic," vol. i.] 

The history of the rise of the Netherland Repubhc has been at 
the same time the biography of WilKam the Silent. This, while 
it gives unity to the narrative, renders an elaborate description of 
his character superfluous. That life was a noble Christian epic ; 
inspired with one great purpose from its commencement to its 
close; the stream flowing ever from one fountain with expanding 
fulness, but retaining all its original purity. A few general obser- 
vations are all which are necessary by way of conclusion. 

In person, Orange was above the middle height, perfectly well 
made and sinewy, but rather spare than stout. His eyes, hair, 
beard, and complexion were brown. His head was small, sym- 
metrically shaped, combining the alertness and compactness 
characteristic of the soldier, with the capacious brow furrowed 
prematurely with the horizontal lines of thought, denoting the 
statesman and the sage. His physical appearance was, therefore, 
in harmony with his organization, which was of antique model. 
Of his moral qualities, the most prominent was his piety. He 
was more than any thing else a religious man. From his trust in 
God he ever derived support and consolation in the darkest hours. 
Implicitly relying upon Almighty wisdom and goodness, he looked 
danger in the face with a constant smile, and endured incessant 
labors and trials with a serenity which seemed more than human. 
While, however, his soul was full of piety, it was tolerant of error. 
Sincerely and deliberately himself a convert to the Reformed 
Church, he was ready to extend freedom of worship to Catholics 
on the one hand, and to Anabaptists on the other ; for no man 
ever felt more keenly than he that the reformer who becomes in 
his turn a bigot is doubly odious. 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY. 95 

His firmness was allied to his piety. His constancy in bearing 
the whole weight of struggle, as unequal as men have ever under- 
taken, was the theme of admiration even to his enemies. The 
rock in the ocean, ^^ tranquil amid raging billows," was the 
favorite emblem by which his friends expressed their sense of his 
firmness. . . . 

His intellectual faculties were various, and of the highest order. 
He had the exact, practical, and combining qualities which make 
the great commander ; and his friends claimed that in military 
genius he was second to no captain in Europe. This was, no 
doubt, an exaggeration of partial attachment, but it is certain that 
the Emperor Charles had an exalted opinion of his capacity 
for the field. His fortification of Philippeville and Charlemont, in 
the face of the enemy ; his passage of the Meuse in Alva's sight ; 
his unfortunate but well-ordered campaign against that general ; 
his subhme plan of rehef, projected and successfully directed at 
last from his sick-bed, for the besieged city of Leyden, — will 
always remain monuments of his practical military skill. 

Of the soldier's great virtues — constancy in disaster, devotion 
to duty, hopefulness in defeat — no man ever possessed a larger 
share. He arrived, through a series of reverses, at a perfect 
victory. He planted a free commonwealth under the very battery 
of the Inquisition, in defiance of the most powerful empire exist- 
ing. He was, therefore, a conqueror in the loftiest sense, for he 
conquered liberty and a national existence for a whole people. 
The contest was long, and he fell in the struggle ; but the victory 
was to the dead hero, not to the living monarch. It is to be 
remembered, too, that he always wrought with inferior instruments. 
His troops were usually mercenaries, who were but too apt to 
mutiny upon the eve of battle, while he was opposed by the most 
formidable veterans of Europe, commanded successively by the 
first captains of the age. That with no heutenant of eminent 
valor or experience, save only his brother Louis, and with none at 
all after that chieftain's death, William of Orange should succeed 



96 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

in baffling the efforts of Ali^a, Requesens, Don John of Anstda. 
and Alexander Famese, — men whose names are among the most 
brilliant in the military aonals of the world, — is in itself sufficient 
evidence of his warlike ability. At the period of his death he had 
reduced the number of obedient provinces to two; only Artois 
and Hainault acknowledging Philip, while the other fifteen were 
in open revolt, the greater part having solenmlj foiswom their 
sovereign. 

The supremacy of his political genius was entirely beyond ques- 
tion. He was the fiist statesman of the age. The quickness of 
his perception was only equalled by the caution which enabled 
him to mature the r^ults of his oteervations. His knowledge 
of human nature was profound. He governed the passions and 
sentiments of a great nation as if they had been but the keys 
and chords of one vast instrument ; and his hand rarely &iled to 
evoke harmony even out of the wildest storms. The turbulent 
city of Ghent, which could obey no other master^ which even the 
haughty emperor could only crush without controlling, was ever 
responsive to the master-hand of Orange. His presence scared 
away Imbize and his bat-like crew, confounded the schemes of 
John Casimir, fiiistra^ted the wiles of Prince Chimay; and, while 
he hved, Ghent was what it ought always to have remained, the 
bulwark, as it had been the cradle, of popular liberty. After his 
death it became its tomb. 

Ghent, saved thrice by the policy, the eloquence, the self- 
sacrifices of Orange, felL, within three months of his murder, into 
the hands of Parma. The loss of this most important city, fol- 
lowed in the next year by the down&ll of Antwerp, sealed the fete 
of the Southern Netherlands. Had the prince lived, how different 
might have been the country's Me ! If seven provinces could 
dilate, in so brief a space, into the powerful commonwealth vdiich 
the republic soon became, what might not have been achieved 
by the united seventeen? — a confederacy which would have united 
the adamantine vigor of the Batavian and Frisian rajces with the 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY, 97 

subtler, more delicate, and more graceful national elements in 
which the genius of the Frank, the Roman, and the Romanized 
Celt were so intimately blended. As long as the father of the 
country lived, such a union was possible. His power of managing 
men was so unquestionable, that there was always a hope, even in 
the darkest hour; for men felt imphcit reliance, as well on his 
intellectual resources as on his integrity. 

This power of dealing with his fellow- men he manifested in the 
various ways in which it has been usually exhibited by statesmen. 
He possessed a ready eloquence — sometimes impassioned, oftener 
argumentative, always rational. His influence over his audience 
was unexampled in the annals of that country or age ; yet he 
never condescended to flatter the people. He never followed the 
nation, but always led her in the path of duty and of honor, and 
was much more prone to rebuke the vices than to pander to the 
passions of his hearers. He never failed to administer ample 
chastisement to parsimony, to jealousy, to insubordination, to 
intolerance, to infidelity, wherever it was due ; nor feared to con- 
front the states or the people in their most angry hours, and to 
tell them the truth to their faces. This commanding position he 
alone could stand upon ; for his countrymen knew the generosity 
which had sacrificed his all for them, the self-denial which had 
eluded rather than sought political advancement, whether from 
king or people, and the untiring devotion which had consecrated 
a whole life to toil and danger in the cause of their emancipation. 
While, therefore, he was ever ready to rebuke, and always too 
honest to flatter, he at the same time possessed the eloquence 
which could convince or persuade. He knew how to reach both 
the mind and the heart of his hearers. His orations, whether 
extemporaneous or prepared ; his written messages to the States- 
General, to the provincial authorities, to the municipal bodies ; his 
private correspondence with men of all ranks, from emperors and 
kings down to secretaries, and even children, all show an easy 
flow of language, a fulness of thought, a power of expression rare 



98 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

in that age, a fund of historical allusion, a considerable powei 
of imagination, a warmth of sentiment, a breadth of view, a 
directness of purpose, — a range of qualities, in short, which would 
in themselves have stamped him as one of the master-minds of 
his century, had there been no other monument to his memory 
than the remains of his spoken or written eloquence. The bulk 
of his performances in this department was prodigious. Not 
even Philip was more industrious in the cabinet. Not even 
Granvelle held a more facile pen. He wrote and spoke equally 
well in French, German, or Flemish ; and he possessed, besides, 
Spanish, Italian, Latin. The weight of his correspondence alone 
would have almost sufficed for the common industry of a lifetime ; 
and, although many volumes of his speeches and letters have 
been pubHshed, there remain in the various archives of the Neth- 
erlands and Germany many documents from his hand which will 
probably never see the light. If the capacity for unremitted 
intellectual labor in an honorable cause be the measure of human 
greatness, few minds could be compared to the " large composi- 
tion " of this man. The efforts made to destroy the Netherlands by 
the most laborious and pains-taking of tyrants were counteracted 
by the industry of the most indefatigable of patriots. 

Thus his eloquence, oral or written, gave him almost boundless 
power over his countrymen. He possessed, also, a rare percep- 
tion of human character, together with an iron memory which 
never lost a face, a place, or an event, once seen or known. He 
read the minds, even the faces, of men, like printed books. No 
man could overreach him, excepting only those to whom he gave 
his heart. He might be mistaken where he had confided, never 
where he had been distrustful or indifferent. He was deceived by 
Renneberg, by his brother-in-law Van den Berg, by the Duke of 
Anjou. Had it been possible for his brother Louis or his brother 
John to have proved false, he might have been deceived by them. 
He was never outwitted by Philip, or Granvelle, or Don John, or 
Alexander of Parma. Anna of Saxony was false to him, and 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY, 99 

entered into correspondence with the royal governors and with 
the king of Spain ; Charlotte of Bourbon, or Louisa de Cohgny, 
might have done the same, had it been possible for their natures 
also to descend to such depths of guile. 

He possessed, too, that which to the heathen philosopher 
seemed the greatest good, — the sound mind in the sound body. 
His physical frame was after death found so perfect that a long 
life might have been in store for him, notwithstanding all which 
he had endured. The desperate illness of 1574, the frightful 
gunshot wound inflicted by Jaureguy in 1582, had left no traces. 
The physicians pronounced that his body presented an aspect of 
perfect health. His temperament was cheerful. At table, the 
pleasures of which, in moderation, were his only relaxation, he 
was always animated and merry ; and this jocoseness was partly 
natural, partly intentional. In the darkest hours of his country's 
trial he affected a serenity which he was far from feeling ; so that 
his apparent gayety at momentous epochs was even censured by 
dullards, who could not comprehend its philosophy, nor applaud 
the flippancy of William the Silent. 

He went through life bearing the load of a people's sorrows 
upon his shoulders, with a smiling face. Their name was the 
last word upon his lips, save the simple affirmative with which 
the soldier who had been battling for the right all his hfetime, 
commended his soul in dying '' to his great Captain, Christ." The 
people were grateful and affectionate ; for they trusted the char- 
acter of their '' Father William," and not all the clouds which 
calumny could collect ever dimmed to their eyes the radiance of 
that lofty mind to which they were accustomed, in their darkest 
calamities, to look for light. As long as he lived, he was the 
guiding-star of a whole brave nation ; and when he died the little 
children cried in the streets. 



lOO FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 



THE VISION OF MIRZA. 

JOSEPH ADDISON. 
[From *' The Spectator," No. 159, Saturday, Sept. i, 1711.] 

When I was at Grand Cairo, I picked up several Oriental manu- 
scripts, which I have still by me. Among others I met with one 
entitled "The Visions of Mirza," which I have read over with 
great pleasure. I intend to give it to the public when I have no 
other entertainment for them, and shall begin with the first vision, 
which I have translated word for word, as follows : — 

On the fifth day of the moon, which, according to the custom ' 
of my forefathers, I always keep holy, after having washed myself, 
and offered up my morning devotions, I ascended the high hills 
of Bagdat in order to pass the rest of the day in meditation and 
prayer. As I was here airing n,iyself on the tops of the mountains, 
1 fell into a profound contemplation on the vanity of human life ; 
and, passing from one thought to another, Surely, said I, man is 
but a shadow, and life a dream. Whilst I was thus musing, I cast 
my eyes towards the summit of a rock that was not far from me, 
where I discovered one in the habit of a shepherd, with a little 
musical instrument in his hand. As I looked upon him, he applied 
it to his lips, and began to play upon it. The sound of it was 
exceedingly sweet, and wrought into a variety of tunes that were 
inexpressibly melodious, and altogether different from any thing I 
had ever heard. They put me in mind of those heavenly airs that 
are played to the departed souls of good men upon their first 
arrival in paradise, to wear out the impressions of the last agonies, 
and qualify them for the pleasures of that happy place. My heart 
melted away in secret raptures. 

I had been often told that the rock before me was the haunt of 
a genius, and that several had been entertained with music who 
had passed by it, but never heard that the musician had before 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY. lOI 

made himself visible. When he had raised my thoughts by those 
transporting airs which he played, to taste the pleasures of his 
conversation, as I looked upon him like one astonished, he 
beckoned to me, and by the waving of his hand directed me to 
approach the place where he sat. I drew near with that reverence 
which is due to a superior nature ; and as my heart was entirely 
subdued by the captivating strains I had heard, I fell down at his 
feet and wept. The genius smiled upon me with a look of com- 
passion and affability that famiharized him to my imagination, and 
at once dispelled all the fears and apprehensions wdth which I 
approached him. He lifted me from the ground, and taking me 
by the hand, '^ Mirza," said he, " I have heard thee in thy solilo- 
quies ; follow me." 

He then led me to the highest pinnacle of the rock, and placing 
me on the top of it, "Cast thine eyes eastward," said he, ''and 
tell me what thou seest." — "I see," said I, " a huge valley, and a 
prodigious tide of water rolling through it." — ''The valley that 
thou seest," said he, " is the vale of misery, and the tide of water 
that thou seest is part of the great tide of eternity," — "What is 
the reason," said I, " that the tide I see rises out of a thick mist 
at one end, and again loses itself in a thick mist at the other?" 
— "What thou seest," said he, "is that portion of eternity which 
is called Time, measured out by the sun, and reaching from the 
beginning of the world to its consummation. Examine now," said 
he, " this sea that is bounded with darkness at both ends, and tell 
me what thou discoverest in it.'* — "I see a bridge," said I, 
"standing in the midst of the tide."- — "The bridge thou seest," 
said he, "is human life; consider it attentively." Upon a more 
leisurely survey of it, I found that it consisted of threescore and 
ten entire arches, with several broken arches, which, added to 
those that were entire, made up the number to about a hundred. 
As I was counting the arches, the genius told me that this bridge 
consisted at first of a thousand arches, but that a great flood swept 
away the rest, and left the bridge in the ruinous condition I now 



I02 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

beheld it. ^^ But tell me further," said he, ^^what thou discoverest 
on it." — ^'I see multitudes of people passing over it," said I, ^^and 
a black cloud hanging on each end of it." As I looked more 
attentively, I saw several of the passengers dropping through the 
bridge into the great tide that flowed underneath it; and upon 
further examination, perceived there were innumerable trap-doors 
that lay concealed in the bridge, which the passengers no sooner 
trod upon, but they fell through them into the tide, and immedi- 
ately disappeared. These hidden pitfalls were set very thick at 
the entrance of the bridge, so that throngs of people no sooner 
broke through the cloud, but many of them fell into them. They 
grew thinner towards the middle, but multiplied and lay closer 
together towards the end of the arches that were entire. 

There were, indeed, some persons, but their number was very 
small, that continued a kind of hobbling march on the broken 
arches, but fell through one after another, being quite tired and 
spent with so long a walk. 

I passed some time in the contemplation of this wonderful 
structure, and the great variety of objects which it presented. My 
heart was filled with a deep melancholy to see several dropping 
unexpectedly in the midst of mirth and jolHty, and catching at 
every thing that stood by them to save themselves. Some were 
looking up towards the heavens in a thoughtful posture, and, in 
the midst of a speculation, stumbled, and fell out of sight. Multi- 
tudes were very busy in the pursuit of bubbles that glittered in 
their eyes, and danced before them ; but often when they thought 
themselves within the reach of them, their footing failed, and 
down they sank. 

The genius seeing me indulge myself on this melancholy pros- 
pect, told me I had dwelt long enough upon it. ^^Take thine 
eyes off the bridge," said he, ^^and tell me if thou yet seest any 
thing thou dost not comprehend." Upon looking up, ^^Vhat 
mean," said I, '^ those great flights of birds that are perpetually 
hovering about the bridge, and settling upon it from time to time ? 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY. I03 

I see vultures, harpies, rav^ens, cormorants ; and, among many 
other feathered creatures, several little winged boys, that perch in 
great numbers upon the middle arches." ^^ These," said the 
genius, " are Envy, Avarice, Superstition, Despair, Love, with the 
like cares and passions that infest human life." 

I here fetched a deep sigh. "Alas," said I, "man was made 
in vain ! how is he given away to misery and mortality I tortured 
in life, and swallowed up in death ! " The genius, being moved 
with compassion towards me, bade me quit so uncomfortable a 
prospect. "Look no more," said he, "on man in the first stage 
of his existence, in his setting out for eternity, but cast thine eye 
on that thick mist into which the tide bears the several genera- 
tions of mortals that fall into it." I directed my sight as I was 
ordered, and (whether or no the good genius strengthened it with 
any supernatural force, or dissipated part of the mist that was 
before too thick for the eye to penetrate) I saw the valley open- 
ing at the farther end, and spreading forth into an immense ocean, 
that had a huge rock of adamant running through the midst of it, 
and dividing it into two equal parts. The clouds still rested on 
one half of it, insomuch that I could discover nothing in it ; but 
the other appeared to me a vast ocean planted with innumerable 
islands that were covered with fruits and flowers, and interwoven 
with a thousand little shining seas that ran among them. I could 
see persons dressed in glorious habits, with garlands upon their 
heads, passing among the trees, lying down by the sides of foun- 
tains, or resting on beds of flowers ; and could hear a confused 
harmony of singing birds, falling waters, human voices, and musi- 
cal instruments. Gladness grew in me upon the discovery of so 
delightful a scene. I wished for the wings of an eagle that I 
might fly away to those happy seats ; but the genius told me there 
was no passage to them except through the gates of death that 
I saw opening every moment upon the bridge. "The islands," 
said he, " that he so fresh and green before thee, and with which 
the whole face of the ocean appears spotted as far as thou canst 



I04 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS, 

see, are more in number than the sands on the seashore ; there 
are myriads of islands behind those which thou here discoverest, 
reaching farther than thine eye, or even thine imagination, can 
extend itself. These are the mansions of good men after death, 
who, according to the degree and kinds of virtue in which they 
excelled, are distributed among these several islands, which abound 
with pleasures of different kinds and degrees, suitable to the rel- 
ishes and perfections of those who are settled in them. Every 
island is a paradise accommodated to its respective inhabitants. 
Are not these, O Mirza ! habitations worth contending for ? Does 
hfe appear miserable, that gives thee opportunities of earning such 
a reward ? Is death to be feared, that will convey thee to so 
happy an existence ? Think not man was made in vain, who has 
such an eternity reserved for him." I gazed with inexpressible 
pleasure on these happy islands. At length, said I, " Show me 
now, I beseech thee, the secrets that lie hid under those dark 
clouds which cover the ocean on the other side of the rock of 
adamant." The genius making me no answer, I turned about to 
address myself to him a second time, but I found that he had left 
me. I then turned again to the vision which I had been so long 
contemplating ; but instead of the rolling tide, the arched bridge, 
and the happy islands, I saw nothing but the long, hollow valley 
of Bagdat, with oxen, sheep, and camels grazing upon the sides of 
it. 



BOB CRATCHIT'S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 

CHARLES DICKENS. 
[From the ** Christmas Carol.'*] 

Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit's wife, dressed out but 
poorly in a twice-turned gown, but brave in ribbons, which are 
cheap, and make a goodly show for sixpence ; and she laid the 
cloth, assisted by Belinda Cratchit, second of her daughters, also 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY. 105 

brave in ribbons, while Master Peter Cratchit plunged a fork into 
the saucepan of potatoes, and getting the corners of his monstrous 
shirt-collar (Bob's private property, conferred upon his son and 
heir in honor of the day) into his mouth, rejoiced to find himself 
so gallantly attired, and yearned to show his linen in the fashion- 
able parks. And now two smaller Cratchits, boy and girl, came 
tearing in, screaming that outside the baker's they had smelt the 
goose, and known it for their own; and basking in luxurious 
thoughts of sage and onion, these young Cratchits danced about 
the table, and exalted Master Peter Cratchit to the skies, while he 
(not proud, although his collars nearly choked him) blew the fire, 
until the slow potatoes bubbling up knocked loudly at the sauce- 
pan-lid to be let out and peeled. 

"What has ever got your precious father then?" said Mrs. 
Cratchit. " And your brother. Tiny Tim ! And Martha warn't as 
late last Christmas Day by half an hour ! " 

" Here's Martha, mother ! " said a girl, appearing as she 
spoke. 

" Here's Martha, mother ! " cried the two young Cratchits. 
** Hurrah ! There's siuh a goose, Martha ! " 

"Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are !" said 
Mrs. Cratchit, kissing her a dozen times, and taking off her shawl 
and bonnet for her with officious zeal. 

"We'd a deal of work to finish up last night," replied the girl; 
"and had to clear away this morning, mother." 

" Well, never mind so long as you are come," said Mrs. Cratchit. 
" Sit ye down before the fire, my dear, and have a warm. Lord 
bless ye 1 " 

"No, no! There's father coming," cried the two young 
Cratchits, who were everywhere at once. " Hide, Martha, hide ! " 

So Martha hid herself; and in came little Bob, the father, with 
at least three feet of comforter, exclusive of the fringe, hanging 
down before him ; and his threadbare clothes darned up and 
brushed, to look seasonable ; and Tiny Tim upon his shoulder, 



I06 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

Alas for Tiny Tim, he bore a little crutch, and had his limbs 
supported by an iron frame ! 

"Why, Where's our Martha?" cried Bob Cratchit, looking 
round. 

"Not coming," said Mrs. Cratchit. 

" Not coming ! " said Bob, with a sudden declension in his 
high spirits ; for he had been Tim's blood horse all the way from 
church, and had come home rampant. '' Not coming upon 
Christmas Day ! " 

Martha didn't like to see him disappointed, if it were only in 
joke, so she came out prematurely from behind the closet-door, 
and ran into his arms ; while the two young Cratchits hustled Tiny 
Tim, and bore him off into the wash-house, that he might hear the 
pudding singing in the copper. 

"And how did httle Tim behave?" asked Mrs. Cratchit, when 
she had rallied Bob on his credulity, and Bob had hugged his 
daughter to his heart's content. 

"As good as gold," said Bob, "and better. Somehow he gets 
thoughtful, sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest 
things you ever heard. He told me, coming home, that he hoped 
the people saw him in the church, because he was a cripple, and 
it might be pleasant to them to remember upon Christmas Day 
who made lame beggars walk and blind men see." 

Bob's voice was tremulous when he told them this, and trembled 
more when he said that Tiny Tim was growing strong and hearty. 

His active little crutch was heard upon the floor, and back 
came Tiny Tim before another word was spoken, escorted by his 
brother and sister to his stool beside the fire ; and while Bob, 
turning up his cuffs — as if, poor fellow, they were capable of being 
made more shabby — compounded some hot mixture in a jug with 
gin and lemons, and stirred it round and round and put it on 
the hob to simmer. Master Peter and the two ubiquitous young 
Cratchits went to fetch the goose, with which they soon returned 
in high procession. 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY. lO/ 

Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose the 
rarest of all birds, a feathered phenomenon to which a black swan 
was a matter of course ; and in truth it was something very like 
it in that house. Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy ready beforehand 
in a little saucepan, hissing hot ; Master Peter mashed the potatoes 
with incredible vigor; Miss Behnda sweetened up the apple- 
sauce ; Martha dusted the hot plates ; Bob took Tiny Tim beside 
him in a tiny corner at the table ; the two young Cratchits set 
chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves, and, mounting 
guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into their mouths, lest 
they should shriek for goose before their turn came to be helped. 
At last the dishes were set on, and grace was said. It was suc- 
ceeded by a breathless pause, as Mrs. Cratchit, looking slowly all 
along the carving-knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast ; but 
when she did, and when the long-expected gush of stuffing issued 
forth, one murmur of delight arose all round the board, and even 
Tiny Tim, excited by the two young Cratchits, beat on the table 
with the handle of his knife, and feebly cried '^ Hurrah ! " 

There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn't believe 
there ever was such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavor, 
size and cheapness, were the themes of universal admiration. 
Eked out by apple-sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient 
dinner for the whole family ; indeed, as Mrs. Cratchit said with 
great delight (surveying one small atom of a bone upon the dish), 
they hadn't ate it all at last ! Yet every one had had enough ; 
and the youngest Cratchits in particular were steeped in sage and 
onion to the eyebrows ! But now, the plates being changed by 
Miss Belinda, Mrs. Cratchit left the room alone, — too nervous to 
bear witnesses, — to take the pudding up, and bring it in. 

Suppose it should not be done enough ! Suppose it should 
break in turning out ! Suppose somebody should have got over 
the wall of the back-yard, and stolen it, while they were merry 
with the goose, — a supposition at which the two young Cratchits 
became livid ! All sorts of horrors were supposed. 



Io8 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

Hallo ! A great deal of steam ! The pudding was out of the 
copper. A smell like a washing-day ! That was the cloth. A 
smell hke an eating-house and a pastry-cook's next door to each 
other, with a laundress's next door to that ! That was the pud- 
ding ! In half a minute Mrs. Cratchit entered — flushed, but 
smiling proudly — with the pudding, like a speckled cannon-ball, 
so hard and firm, blazing in half of half- a- quartern of ignited 
brandy, and bedight with Christmas holly stuck into the top. 

Oh, a wonderful pudding ! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly too, 
that he regarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs. 
Cratchit since their marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said that now the 
weight was off her mind, she would confess she had her doubts 
about the quantity of flour. Everybody had something to say 
about it ; but nobody said or thought it was at all a small pudding 
for a large family. It would have been flat heresy to do so. Any 
Cratchit would have blushed to hint at such a thing. 

At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the 
hearth swept, and the fire made up. The compound in the jug 
being tasted, and considered perfect, apples and oranges were 
put upon the table, and a shovel-full of chestnuts on the fire. 
Then all the Cratchit family drew round the hearth, in what Bob 
Cratchit called a circle, meaning half a one ; and at Bob Cratchit's 
elbow stood the family display of glass, — two tumblers and a 
custard-cup without a handle. 

These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as 
golden goblets would have done ; and Bob served it out with 
beaming looks, while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and 
cracked noisily. Then Bob proposed : — 

" A merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us ! " 

Which all the family re-echoed. 

" God bless us every one ! " said Tiny Tim, the last of all. 

He sat very close to his father's side, upon his little stool. Bob 
held his withered little hand in his, as if he loved the child, and 
wished to keep him by his side, and dreaded that he might be 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY, 109 

taken from him. Bob Cratchit told them how he had a situation 
in his eye for Master Peter, which would bring in, if obtained, full 
five-and-sixpence weekly. The two young Cratchits laughed tre- 
mendously at the idea of Peter's being a man of business ; and 
Peter himself looked thoughtfully at the fire from between his 
collars, as if he were deliberating what particular investments he 
should favor when he came into the receipt of that bewildering 
income. Martha, who was a poor apprentice at a milliner's, then 
told them what kind of work she had to do, and how many hours 
she worked at a stretch, and how she meant to lie abed to-morrow 
morning for a good long rest; to-morrow being a hoHday she 
passed at home. Also, how she had seen a countess and a lord 
some days before ; and how the lord " was much about as tall as 
Peter." At which Peter pulled up his collars so high that you 
couldn't have seen his head if you had been there. All this time 
the chestnuts and the jug went round and round ; and by-and-by 
they had a song, about a lost child travelling in the snow, from 
Tiny Tim, who had a plaintive Httle voice, and sang it very well 
indeed. 

There was nothing of high mark in this. They were not a 
handsome family ; they were not well dressed ; their shoes were 
far from being waterproof ; their clothes were scanty; and Peter 
might have known, and very likely did, the inside of a pawn- 
broker's. But they were happy, grateful, pleased with one another, 
and contented with the time ; and when they faded, and looked 
happier yet in the bright sprinklings of the Spirit's torch at part- 
ing, Scrooge had his eye upon them, and especially on Tiny Tim, 
until the last. 



no FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS, 

ABDICATION OF CHARLES THE FIFTH. 

WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. 
[From the " History of Philip IL," Vol. I.] 

Preparations were then made for conducting the ceremony of 
abdication with all the pomp and solemnity suited to so august 
an occasion. The great hall of the royal palace of Brussels was 
selected for the scene of it. The walls of the spacious apartment 
were hung with tapestry, and the floor was covered with rich 
carpeting. A scaffold was erected at one end of the room, to the 
height of six or seven steps. On it was placed a throne, or chair 
of state, for the Emperor, with other seats for Philip and for the 
great Flemish lords who were to attend the person of their sove- 
reign. Above the throne was suspended a gorgeous canopy, on 
which were emblazoned the arms of the ducal house of Burgundy. 
In front of the scaffolding, accommodations were provided for the 
deputies of the provinces, who were to be seated on benches 
arranged according to their respective rights of precedence. 

On the 25 th of October, the day fixed for the ceremony, Charles 
the Fifth executed an instrument by which he ceded to his son the 
sovereignty of the Netherlands. Mass was then performed ; and 
the Emperor, accompanied by Philip and a numerous retinue, 
proceded in state to the great hall, where the deputies were 
already assembled. 

Charles was at this time in the fifty-sixth year of his age. His 
form was slightly bent, — but it was by disease more than by time, 
— and on his countenance might be traced the marks of anxiety 
and rough exposure ; yet it still wore that majesty of expression 
so conspicuous in his portraits by the inimitable pencil of Titian. 
His hair, once of a light color, approaching to yellow, had begun 
to turn before he was forty, and, as well as his beard, was now 
gray. His forehead was broad and expansive, his nose aquiline. 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY. II J 

His blue eyes and fair complexion intimated his Teutonic descent. 
The only feature in his countenance decidedly bad was his lower 
jaw, protruding with its thick, heavy lip, so characteristic of the 
physiognomies of the Austrian dynasty. 

In stature he was about the middle height. His limbs were 
strongly knit, and once well formed, though now the extremities 
were sadly distorted by disease. The Emperor leaned for support 
on a staff with one hand, while with the other he rested on the 
arm of William of Orange, who, then young, was destined at a 
later day to become the most formidable enemy of his house. 
The grave demeanor of Charles was rendered still more impres- 
sive by his dress, — for he was in mourning for his mother, — and 
the sable hue of his attire was relieved only by a single ornament, 
the superb collar of the Golden Fleece, which hung from his neck. 

Behind the Emperor came Philip, the heir of his vast domin- 
ions. He was of a middle height, of much the same proportions 
as his father, whom he resembled also in his lineaments, except 
that those of the son wore a more sombre and perhaps a sinister 
expression ; while there was a reserve in his manner, in spite of 
his efforts to the contrary, as if he would shroud his thoughts from 
observation. The magnificence of his dress corresponded with 
his royal station, and formed a contrast to that of his father, who 
was quitting the pomp and grandeur of the world, on which the 
son was about to enter. 

Next to Philip came Alary, the Emperor's sister, formerly queen 
of Hungary. She had filled the post of Regent of the Low Coun- 
tries for nearly twenty years, and now welcomed the hour when 
she was to resign the burden of sovereignty to her nephew, and 
withdraw, like her imperial brother, into private life. Another 
sister of Charles, Eleanor, widow of the French king, Francis the 
First, also took part in these ceremonies, previous to her departure 
for Spain, whither she was to accompany the Emperor. 

After these members of the imperial family came the nobihty 
of the Netherlands, the knights of the Golden Fleece, the royal 



112 FIRST STEPS TV EXGTISH CLASSICS. 

counsellors, and the great officers of the household, all splendidly 
attired in their robes of state, and proudly displaying the insignia 
of their orders. When the Emperor had mounted his throne, 
with Philip on his right hand, the Regent Mary on his left, and 
the rest of his retinue disposed along the seats prepared for them 
on the platform, the president of the council of Flanders addressed 
the assembly. He briefly explained the object for which they had 
been summoned, and the motives which had induced their master 
to abdicate the throne ; and he concluded by requiring them, in 
their sovereign's name, to transfer their allegiance from himself to 
Philip, his son and rightful heir. 

After a pause, Charles rose to address a few parting words to 
his subjects. He stood ^^ith apparent difficult}^ and rested his 
right hand on the shoulder of the Prince of Orange, — intimating 
by this preference on so distinguished an occasion the high favor 
in which he held the young nobleman. In the other hand he held 
a paper containing some hints for his discourse, and occasionally 
cast his eyes on it to refresh his memory. He spoke in the 
French language. 

He was unwilling, he said, to part from his people without a 
few words from his own lips. It was now fort}' years since he had 
been intrusted with the sceptre of the Netherlands. He was soon 
after called to take charge of a still more extensive empire, both 
in Spain and in Germany, involving a heavy responsibility for one 
so young. He had, however, endeavored earnestly to do his duty 
to the best of his abilities. He had been ever mindful of the 
mterests of the dear land of his birth, but, above all, of the great 
interests of Christianity. His first object had been to maintain 
these inviolate against the infidel. In this he had been thwarted, 
partly by the jealousy of neighboring powers, and partly by the 
factions of the heretical princes of Germany. 

In the performance of his great work he had never consulted 
his ease. His expeditions, in war and in peace, to France, Eng- 
land, Germany, Italy, Spain, and Flanders, had amounted to no 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY. II3 

less than forty. Four times he had crossed the Spanish seas, and 
eight times the Mediterranean. He had shrunk from no toil while 
he had the strength to endure it ; but a cruel malady had deprived 
him of that strength. Conscious of his inability to discharge the 
duties of his station, he had long since come to the resolution to 
relinquish it. From this he had been diverted only by the situa- 
tion of his unfortunate parent and by the inexperience of his son. 
These objections no longer existed ; and he should not stand 
excused in the eye of Heaven or of the world if he should insist 
on still holding the reins of government when he was incapable 
of managing them, — when every year his incapacity must become 
more obvious. 

He begged them to believe that this, and no other motive, 
induced him to resign the sceptre which he had so long swayed. 
They had been to him dutiful and loving subjects, and such, he 
doubted not, they would prove to his successor. Above all things, 
he besought them to maintain the purity of the faith. If any one, 
in these licentious times, had admitted doubts into his bosom, let 
such doubts be extirpated at once. " I know well," he concluded, 
" that, in my long administration, I have fallen into many errors 
and committed some wrongs. But it was from ignorance ; and, if 
there be any here whom I have wronged, they will believe that it 
was not intended, and grant me their forgiveness." 

While the Emperor was speaking, a breathless silence pervaded 
the whole audience. Charles had ever been dear to the people 
of the Netherlands, — the land of his birth. They took a national 
pride in his achievements, and felt that his glory reflected a pecul- 
iar lustre on themselves. As they now gazed for the last time on 
that revered form, and listened to the parting admonitions from 
his lips, they were deeply affected, and not a dry eye was to be 
seen in the assembly. 

After a short interval, Charles, turning to Philip, who, in an 
attitude of deep respect, stood awaiting his commands, thus ad- 
dressed him : " If the vast possessions which are now bestowed 



114 FIRST STEPS IX EXGLISH CLASSICS. 

on you had come by inheritance, there would be abundant cause 
for gratitude. How much more when they come as a free gift in 
the Hfetime of your father ! But, however large the debt, I shall 
consider it all repaid if you only discharge your dut}- to your 
subjects. So rule over them that men shall commend and not 
censure me for the part I am now acting. Go on as you have 
begun. Fear God : live justly ; respect the laws ; above all, 
cherish the interests of religion ; and may the Almighty bless you 
with a son to whom, when old and stricken with disease, you may 
be able to resign your kingdom with the same good will wuth 
which I now resign mine to you." 

As he ceased, Philip, much affected, would have thrown himself 
at his father's feet, assuring him of his intention to do all in his 
power to merit such goodness ; but Charles, raising his son, ten- 
derly embraced him, while the tears flowed fast dowTi his cheeks. 
Ever}^ one, even the most stoical, was touched by this affecting 
scene; ''and nothing," says one who was present, ^^was to be 
heard throughout the hall but sobs and ill-suppressed moans." 
Charles, exhausted by his efforts, and deadly pale, sank back upon 
his seat ; while, wuth feeble accents, he exclaimed, as he gazed 
on his people. '' God bless you ! God bless you ! " 

After these emotions had somewhat subsided, Philip arose, and, 
delivering himself in French, briefly told the deputies of the regret 
which he felt at not being able to address them in their native 
language, and to assure them of the favor and high regard in 
which he held them. This would be done for him by the Bishop 
of Arras. 

This was Anthony Perennot, better kno^^ii as Cardinal Gran- 
velle, son of the famous minister of Charles the Fifth, and destined 
himself to a still higher celebrity as the minister of Philip the Sec- 
ond. In clear and fluent language, he gave the deputies the 
promise of their new sovereign to respect the laws and liberties 
of the nation ; invoking them, on his behalf, to aid him with their 
':ounsels, and, like royal vassals, to maintain the authority of the 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY. II5 

law in his dominions. After a suitable response from the deputies, 
filled with sentiments of regret for the loss of their late monarch, 
and with those of loyalty to their new one, the Regent Mary 
formally abdicated her authority, and the session closed. So 
ended a ceremony which, considering the importance of its con- 
sequences, the character of the actors, and the solemnity of the 
proceedings, is one of the most remarkable in history. That 
the crown of the monarch is lined with thorns, is a trite maxim ; 
and it requires no philosophy to teach us that happiness does not 
depend on station. Yet, numerous as are the instances of those 
who have waded to a throne through seas of blood, there are but 
few who, when they have once tasted the sweets of sovereignty, 
have been content to resign them ; still fewer who, when they 
have done so, have had the philosophy to conform to their change 
of condition, and not to repent it. Charles, as the event proved, 
was one of these few. 

On the sixteenth day of January, 1556, in the presence of such 
of the Spanish nobility as were at the court, he executed the deeds 
by which he ceded the sovereignty of Castile and Aragon, with 
their dependencies, to Philip. 

The last act that remained for him to perform was to resign the 
crown of Germany in favor of his brother Ferdinand. But this he 
consented to defer for some time longer, at the request of Ferdi- 
nand himself, who wished to prepare the minds of the electoral 
college for this unexpected transfer of the imperial sceptre. But, 
while Charles consented to retain for the present the title of 
Emperor, the real power and the burden of sovereignty would 
remain with Ferdinand. 

At the time of abdicating the throne of the Netherlands, Charles 
was still at war wdth France. He had endeavored to negotiate a 
permanent peace with that country ; and, although he failed in 
this, he had the satisfaction, on the 5th of February, 1556, to 
arrange a truce for five years, which left both powers in the pos- 
session of their respective conquests. In the existing state of 



Il6 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

these conquests, the truce was by no means favorable to Spain. 
But Charles would have made even larger concessions, rather 
than leave the legacy of a war to his less experienced successor. 

Having thus completed all his arrangements, by which the 
most powerful prince of Europe descended to the rank of a private 
gentleman, Charles had no longer reason to defer his departure ; 
and he proceeded to the place of embarkation. He was accom- 
panied by a train of Flemish courtiers, and by the foreign ambas- 
sadors, to the latter of whom he warmly commended the interests 
of his son. A fleet of fifty-six sail was riding at anchor in the 
port of Flushing, ready to transport him and his retinue to Spain. 
From the imperial household, consisting of seven hundred and 
sixty-two persons, he selected a hundred and fifty as his escort ; 
and accompanied by his sisters, after taking an affectionate farewell 
of Philip, whose affairs detained him in Flanders, on the 1 7th of 
September he sailed from the harbor of Flushing. 

The passage was a boisterous one ; and Charles, who suffered 
greatly from his old enemy the gout, landed, in a feeble state, at 
Laredo, in Biscay, on the 28th of the month. Scarcely had he left 
the vessel when a storm fell with fury on the fleet, and did some 
mischief to the shipping in the harbor. The pious Spaniard saw in 
this the finger of Providence, which had allowed no harm to the 
squadron till its royal freight had been brought safely to the shore. 

On landing, Charles complained, and with some reason, of the 
scanty preparations that had been made for him. PhiHp had 
written several times to his sister, the regent, ordering her to have 
every thing ready for the Emperor on his arrival. Joanna had 
accordingly issued her orders to that effect. But promptness and 
punctuality are not virtues of the Spaniard. Some apology may 
be found for their deficiency in the present instance ; as Charles 
himself had so often postponed his departure from the Low 
Countries, that, when he did come, the people were, in a manner, 
taken by surprise. That the neglect was not intentional, is evident 
from their subsequent conduct. 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY, I17 

Charles, whose weakness compelled him to be borne in a litter, 
was greeted everyAvhere on the road like a sovereign returning to 
his dominions. At Burgos, which he entered amidst the ringing 
of bells and a general illumination of the town, he passed three 
days, experiencing the hospitalities of the great constable, and 
receiving the homage of the Northern lords, as well as of the 
people, who thronged the route by which he was to pass. At 
Torquemada, among those who came to pay their respects to their 
former master was Gasca, the good president of Peru. He had 
been sent to America to suppress the insurrection of Gonzalo 
Pizarro, and restore tranquillity to the country. In the execution 
of this dehcate mission he succeeded so well that the Emperor, 
on his return, had raised him to the see of Plasencia; and the 
excellent man now lived in his diocese, where, in the peaceful dis- 
charge of his episcopal functions, he probably enjoyed far greater 
contentment than he could have derived from the dazzling but 
difficult post of an x\merican viceroy. 

From Torquemada, Charles slowly proceeded to ValladoUd, 
where his daughter, the Regent Joanna, was then holding her 
court. Preparations were made for receiving him in a manner 
suited to his former rank. But Charles positively declined these 
honors, reserving them for his two sisters, the queens of France 
and Hungary, who accordingly made their entrance into the 
capital in great state, on the day following that on which their 
royal brother had entered it with the simplicity of a private 
citizen. 

He remained here some days, in order to recover from the 
fatigue of his journey ; and although he took no part in the fes- 
tivities of the court, he gave audience to his ancient ministers, 
and to such of the Castilian grandees as were eager to render him 
their obeisance. At the court he had also the opportunity of 
seeing his grandson Carlos, the heir of the monarchy; and his 
quick eye, it is said, in this short time saw enough in the prince's 
deportment to fill him with ominous forebodings. 



Il8 FIRST STEPS IN EXGLISH CLASSICS. 

Charles prolonged his stay fourteen days in Valladolid, during 
which time his health was much benefited by the purity and the 
dr}^ness of the atmosphere. On his departure, his royal sisters 
would have borne him company, and even have fixed their perma- 
nent residence near his own. But to this he would not consent ; 
and taking a tender farewell of every member of his family, — as 
one who was never to behold them again, — he resumed his jour- 
ney. He took with him a number of followers, mostly menials, to 
wait on his person. 

The place he had chosen for his retreat was the monastery of 
Yuste, in the province of Estremadura, not many miles from 
Plasencia. On his way thither he halted near three months at 
Jarandilla, the residence of the Count of Oropesa, waiting there 
for the completion of some repairs that were going on in the 
monastery, as well as for the remittance of a considerable sum of 
money, which he was daily expecting. This he required chiefly 
to discharge the arrears due to some of his old retainers ; and the 
failure of the remittance has brought some obloquy on Philip, 
who could so soon show himself unmindful of his obhgations to 
his father. But the blame should rather be charged on Philip's 
ministers than on PhiHp, absent as he was at that time from the 
country, and incapable of taking personal cognizance of the matter. 
Punctuahty in his pecuniary engagements was a virtue to which 
neither Charles nor Philip — the masters of the Indies — could at 
any time lay claim. But the imputation of parsimony, or even 
indifference, on the part of the latter, in his relations with his 
father, is fully disproved by the subsequent history of that monarch 
at the com'ent of Yuste. 

This place had attracted his eye many years before, when on 
a visit to that part of the country, and he had marked it for his 
future residence. The convent was tenanted by monks of the 
strictest order of St. Jerome. But, however strict in their monastic 
rule, the good fathers showed much taste in the selection of their 
ground, as well as in the embelhshment of it. It lay in a wild, 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY, II9 

romantic country, embosomed among hills that stretch along the 
northern confines of Estremadura. The building, which was of 
great antiquity, had been surrounded by its inmates with cultivated 
gardens, and with groves of orange, lemon, and myrtle, whose 
fragrance was tempered by the refreshing coolness of the waters 
that gushed forth in abundance from the rocky sides of the hills. 
It was a delicious retreat ; and by its calm seclusion, and the 
character of its scenery, was well suited to withdraw the mind 
from the turmoil of the world, and dispose it to serious meditation. 
Here the monarch, after a life of restless ambition, proposed to 
spend the brief remainder of his days, and dedicate it to the 
salvation of his soul. He could not, however, as the event 
proved, close his heart against all sympathy with mankind, nor 
refuse to take some part in the great questions which then agitated 
the world. Charles was not master of that ignoble philosophy 
which enabled Diocletian to turn with contentment from the cares 
of an empire to those of a cabbage-garden. In this retirement 
we must now leave the royal recluse, while we follow the opening 
career of the prince whose reign is the subject of the present 
history. 



THE FAMOUS TRIAL OF WARREN HASTINGS. 

LORD MACAULAY. 
[From the Essay on Warren Hastings.] 

In the mean time the preparations for the trial had proceeded 
rapidly, and on the 13th of February, 1788, the sittings of the 
court commenced. There have been spectacles more dazzling 
to the eye, more gorgeous with jewelery and cloth- of-gold, more 
attractive to grown-up children, than that which was then exhib- 
ited at Westminster ; but perhaps there never was a spectacle so 
well calculated to strike a highly cultivated, a reflecting, an ima- 
ginative mind. All the various kinds of interest which belong to 



/20 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

the near and to the distant, to the present and to the past, were 
collected on one spot and in one hour. All the talents and all 
the accomplishments which are developed by liberty and civiHza- 
tion were now displayed, with every advantage that could be 
derived both from co-operation and from contrast. Every step in 
the proceedings carried the mind either backward, through many 
troubled centuries, to the days when the foundations of our Con- 
stitution were laid ; or far away, over boundless seas and deserts, 
to dusky nations living under strange stars, worshipping strange 
gods, and writing strange characters from right to left. The High 
Court of Parliament was to sit, according to forms handed down 
from the days of the Plantagenets, on an Englishman accused of 
exercising tyranny over the lord of the holy city of Benares and 
over the ladies of the princely house of Oude. 

The place was worthy of such a trial. It was the great hall of 
William Rufus, — the hall which had resounded with acclamations 
at the inauguration of thirty kings, the hall which had w^itnessed 
the just sentence of Bacon and the just absolution of Somers, the 
hall where the eloquence of Strafford had for a moment awed and 
melted a victorious party inflamed with just resentment, the hall 
where Charles had confronted the High Court of Justice with the 
placid courage which has half redeemed his fame. Neither mili- 
tary nor civil pomp was wanting. The avenues were lined with 
grenadiers. The streets were kept clear by cavalry. The peers, 
robed in gold and ermine, were marshalled by the heralds under 
Garter King-at-arms. The judges, in their vestments of state, 
attended to give advice on points of law. Near a hundred and 
seventy lords, three-fourths of the Upper House as the Upper 
House then was, walked in solemn order from their usual place of 
assembling to the tribunal. The junior baron present led the way. 
Lord Heathfield, recently ennobled for his memorable defence of 
Gibraltar against the fleets and armies of France and Spain. The 
long procession was closed by the Duke of Norfolk, earl marshal 
of the realm, by the great dignitaries, and by the brothers and sons 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY, 121 

of the King. Last of all came the Prince of Wales, conspicuous 
by his fine person and noble bearing. The gray old walls were 
hung with scarlet. The long galleries were crowded by an audience 
such as has rarely excited the fears or the emulation of an orator. 
There were gathered together, from all parts of a great, free, en- 
Hghtened, and prosperous empire, grace and female loveliness, wit 
and learning, the representatives of every science and of every art. 
There were seated round the Queen the fair-haired young daugh- 
ters of the house of Brunswick. There the ambassadors of great 
kings and commonwealths gazed with admiration on a spectacle 
which no other country in the world could present. There Siddons, 
in the prime of her majestic beauty, looked with emotion on a 
scene surpassing all the imitations of the stage. There the his- 
torian of the Roman Empire thought of the days when Cicero 
pleaded the cause of Sicily against Verres, and when, before a 
senate which still retained some show of freedom, Tacitus thun- 
dered against the oppressor of Africa. There were seen, side by 
side, the greatest painter and the greatest scholar of the age. The 
spectacle had lured Reynolds from that easel which has preserved 
to us the thoughtful foreheads of so many writers and statesmen, 
and the sweet smiles of so many noble matrons. It had induced 
Parr to suspend his labors in that dark and profound mine from 
which he had extracted a vast treasure of erudition. There were 
the members of that brilhant society which quoted, criticised, and 
exchanged repartees under the rich peacock hangings of Mrs. 
Montagu. And there the ladies whose lips, more persuasive than 
those of Fox himself, had carried the Westminster election against 
palace and treasury, shone round Georgiana, Duchess of Devon- 
shire. 

The sergeants made proclamation. Hastings advanced to the 
bar, and bent his knee. The culprit was, indeed, not unworthy of 
that great presence. He had ruled an extensive and populous 
country, had made laws and treaties, had sent forth armies, had 
set up and pulled down princes ; and in his high place he had so 



122 FIRST STEPS TV ENGUSH CLASSICS. 

borne himself that all had feared him, that most had loved him, 
and that hatred itself could deny him no title to glory except virtue. 
He looked hke a great man, and not like a bad man. A person 
small and emaciated, yet deriving dignity from a carriage which, 
while it indicated deference to the court, indicated also habitual 
self-possession and self-respect, a high and intellectual forehead, 
a brow pensive but not gloomy, a mouth of inflexible decision, a 
face pale and worn, but serene, on which was written, as legibly as 
under the picture in the council-chamber at Calcutta, AIe7is cequa 
in ardtiis, — such was the aspect with which the great proconsul 
presented himself to his judges. 

His counsel accompanied him, — men all of whom were after- 
w^ards raised by their talents and learning to the highest posts in 
their profession. 

But neither the culprit nor his advocates attracted so much 
notice as the accusers. In the midst of the blaze of red drapery 
a space had been fitted up with green benches and tables for the 
Commons. The managers, wdth Burke at their head, appeared in 
full dress. The collectors of gossip did not fail to remark that 
even Fox, generally so regardless of his appearance, had paid to 
the illustrious tribunal the compliment of wearing a bag and sword. 
Pitt had refused to be one of the conductors of the impeachment, 
and his commanding, copious, and sonorous eloquence was want- 
ing to that great muster of various talents. Age and blindness 
had unfitted Lord North for the duties of a public prosecutor ; 
and his friends were left without the help of his excellent sense, 
his tact, and his urbanity. But in spite of the absence of these 
two distinguished members of the Lower House, the box in which 
the managers stood contained an array of speakers such as per- 
haps had not appeared together since the great age of Athenian 
eloquence. There were Fox and Sheridan, the English Demos- 
thenes and the Enghsh Hyperides. There was Burke, ignorant 
indeed, or negligent, of the art of adapting his reasonings and his 
st}'le to the capacity and taste of his hearers, but in amplitude 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY, 1 23 

of comprehension and richness of imagination superior to every 
orator, ancient or modern. There, with eyes reverentially fixed 
on Burke, appeared the finest gentleman of the age, his form 
developed by every manly exercise, his face beaming with intelli- 
gence and spirit, - — the ingenious, the chivalrous, the high-souled 
Windham. Nor, though surrounded by such men, did the young- 
est manager pass unnoticed. At an age when most of those who 
distinguish themselves in life are still contending for prizes and 
fellowships at college, he had won for himself a conspicuous place 
in Parliament. No advantage of fortune or connection was want- 
ing that could set off to the height his splendid talents and his 
unblemished honor. The charges and the answers of Hastings 
were first read. The ceremony occupied two whole days, and 
was rendered less tedious than it would otherwise have been by 
the silver voice and just emphasis of Cowper, the clerk of the 
court, a near relation of the amiable poet. On the third day 
Burke rose. Four sittings ,were occupied by his opening speech, 
which was intended to be a general introduction to all the charges. 
With an exuberance of thought and a splendor of diction which 
more than satisfied the highly raised expectation of the audience, 
he described the character and institutions of the natives of India, 
recounted the circumstances in which the Asiatic empire of Britain 
had originated, and set forth the constitution of the company and 
of the Enghsh presidencies. Having thus attempted to communi- 
cate to his hearers an idea of Eastern society as vivid as that which 
existed in his own mind, he proceeded to arraign the administra- 
tion of Hastings as systematically conducted in defiance of morahty 
and public law. The energy and pathos of the great orator ex- 
, torted expressions of unwonted admiration from the stern and 
hostile chancellor, and for a moment seemed to pierce even the 
resolute heart of the defendant. The ladies in the galleries, unac- 
customed to such displays of eloquence, excited by the solemnity 
of the occasion, and perhaps not unwilling to display their taste 
and sensibility, were in a state of uncontrollable emotion. Hand- 



124 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

kerchiefs were pulled out, smelling-bottles were handed round, 
hysterical sobs and screams were heard, and Mrs. Sheridan was 
carried out in a fit. At length the orator concluded. Raising his 
voice till the old arches of Irish oak resounded, "Therefore," said 
he, " hath it with all confidence been ordered by the Commons of 
Great Britain, that I impeach Warren Hastings of high crimes 
and misdemeanors. I impeach him in the name of the Commons' 
House of Parliament, whose trust he has betrayed. I impeach him 
in the name of the English nation, whose ancient honor he has 
sullied. I impeach him in the name of the people of India, whose 
rights he has trodden under foot, and whose country he has turned 
into a desert. Lastly, in the name of human nature itself, in the 
name of both sexes, in the name of every age, in the name of 
every rank, I impeach the common enemy and oppressor of all ! " 

When the deep murmur of various emotions had subsided, Mr. 
Fox rose to address the Lords respecting the course of proceeding 
to be followed. The wish of the accusers was that the court 
would bring to a close the investigation of the first charge before 
the second was opened. The wish of Hastings, and of his counsel, 
was that the managers should open all the charges, and produce 
all the evidence for the prosecution, before the defence began. 
The Lords retired to their own House to consider the question. 
The division showed which way the inclination of the tribunal 
leaned. A majority of near three to one decided in favor of the 
course for which Hastings contended. 

When the court sat again, Mr. Fox, assisted by Mr. Grey, 
opened the charge respecting Cheyte Sing, and several days were 
spent in reading papers, and hearing witnesses. The next article 
was that relating to the Princesses of Oude. The conduct of this 
part of the case was intrusted to Sheridan. The curiosity of the 
public to hear him was unbounded. His sparkUng and highly 
finished declamation lasted two days, but the hall was crowded 
to suffocation during the whole time. It was said that fifty guineas 
had been paid for a single ticket. 



SELECTIONS FOR STUDY, 12$ 

June was now far advanced. The session could not last much 
longer, and the progress which had been made in the impeach- 
ment was not very satisfactory. There were twenty charges. On 
two only of these had even the case for the prosecution been heard, 
and it was now a year since Hastings had been admitted to bail. 

The interest taken by the public in the trial was great when the 
court began to sit, and rose to the height when Sheridan spoke on 
the charge relating to the Begums. From that time the excite- 
ment went down fast. The spectacle had lost the attraction of 
novelty. The great displays of rhetoric were over. 



WRITTEN EXERCISES. 

Write a biographical sketch of the following authors, 

one or more selections from whose works we have read : — 

I. John Lothrop Motley. 2. Charles Dickens. 3. William 

HiCKLING PrESCOTT. 



ADDITIONAL PROSE SELECTIONS FOR STUDY. 

Bulwer's Siege of Granada ; Wirt's Blind Preacher ; 
Dickens's Death of Little Paul Dombey (Dombey and Son, 
chap, xvi.), The Tempest (David Copperfield, chap. Iv.), 
Death of Little Nell (Old Curiosity Shop, chaps. Ixxi., 
Ixxii.) ; Motley's Abdication of Charles V. (Dutch Repub- 
lic, vol. i.), Sir Philip Sidney (United Netherlands, vols. i. 
and ii.). Battle of Ivry (Netherlands, vol. iii.) ; Prescott's 
Battle of Lepanto (Philip IL), Last Triumph of the Inca 
(Conquest of Peru) ; Bancroft's description of the battle 
of Bunker Hill ; Cooper's Battle between the Ariel and 
the Alacrity (Pilot). 



126 FIRST STEPS TV EXGLISH CTASSICS. 



CHAPTER VI. 

OUTLINE COUKSE OF STUDY IN ENGLISH LITEEATUEE. 

" It is better to have a thorough acquaintance with one writer's works, than a 
superficial knowledge of the writings of mam* authors." — Arthur Gilman. 

'' There is a growing conviction that much time is wasted in the classroom b}' 
attempting to learn about too many authors." — Truman J. Backus. 

'•' The number of authors is of ver}' little consequence in comparison with the 
thoroughness and completeness of the work done."* — H. H. ^Morgan. 

GENERAL PLAN OF STUDY. 

After the pupil has been drilled by the study of a 
number of simple prose and poetical selections, and is 
prepared to enter upon the study of an author in detail, 
some general plan should be adopted by the teacher in 
order to properly balance his work. In mapping out a 
proposed course of study, we submit the following general 
plan : — 

I. A course of study based upon the study of the texts of 

a few representative authors. 

IL Collateral study. 

IIL Manual study. 

IV. Essays on general topics. 

V. Essays on special topics. 

VI. Supplementary reading. 



OUTLINE COURSE OF STUDY. 127 



I. — REPRESENTATIVE AUTHORS. 

The authors who have been selected as representatives 
of our literature are : — 

I. Longfellow. ix. Hollies. 

n. Irving. x. Scott. 

III. Whittier. XI. Tennyson. 

IV. Goldsmith. xii. Addison. 
V. Bryant. xiii. Byron. 

VI. Gray. xfy. Cowper. 

vii. Hawthorne. xv. Shakspeare. 

VIII. Burns. xvi. Milton. 

XVII. Wordsworth. 

Authors for Additional Study. 

XVIII. Bacon. xxii. Chaucer. 

XIX. Pope. xxiii. Dickens. 

XX. Dryden. XXIV. Lowell. 

XXI. Spenser. xxv. ]\Licaulay. 

xxvi. Cooper. 

There are several reasons why these authors have been 
chosen as the basis of a systematic course of instruction 
in English literature. 

First, they are all English classic authors. 

Secondly, they represent every period in the history of 
our literature. 

Thirdly, they are most suitable and profitable for class- 
room purposes. 

The order in which these authors have been arranged 
is somewhat arbitrary. It is generally admitted that the 
less difficult standard authors should be studied first. 
Beginning with Longfellow, Irving, and Whittier, the 
student is better prepared to appreciate the worth of 



128 FIRST STEPS TV EXGTISH CLASSICS. 

Burns, Addison, and Goldsmith. Milton and Shakspeare 
will remain closed books to him who has not been well 
drilled in the less difficult authors.' 

It is not, of course, necessary that this or any other 
particular order should be rigidly followed. The arrange- 
ment in this book is such that the several authors may be 
taken up in any order that may be deemed best. The 
all-important point is to have a certain number of centres 
to work from, — a certain number of foundation-stones to 
our building, a certain number of pegs on which to hang 
up our literary work. 

The keynote to the whole is : — 

Study systematically the texts of a fezu standard autliors ; 
that is, study autJiors^ — wJiat they Jiave zujitten, and not 
about t/ieni. 

All the rest of our work should be made subordinate 
to this. 

II.-COLLITERIL STUDY. 

In connection with the regular work on the representa- 
tive authors, some time may, now and then, be given to 
reading certain selections from authors whose writings 
cannot be studied in detail in the present course. For 
instance, we cannot afford to devote much time to Dry- 
den or Wordsworth in our formal course : yet, with an 
advanced class, time could be spared, perhaps, for ^^Alex- 

^ '' We ma}^ begin with the earliest authors, and read in the historical order. 
tracing the progress of literature from antecedent to consequent : or. inversely, we 
may begin with modern authors, and work from consequent to antecedent. The 
latter course seems to me to possess the important advantage of starting the pupil 
where the language, idioms, and, to a degi-ee, the incidents are familial", and of gradu- 
ally approaching the earlier and more difficult works. Nor can I see from personal 
experience that pupils reading in this order any less clearly comprehend the relations 
between the several epochs."' — J. W. MacDonald. 



OUTLINE COURSE OF STUDY. 1 29 

ander's Feast," or '' Intimations of Immortality." A few 
recitations devoted to the ''Vicar of Wakefield," or selec- 
tions from Charles Dickens, will do much to relieve the 
monotony of every-day routine work. 

Examples. — i. Dryden's Alexander's Feast. 2. Collins's Ode to Even- 
ing. 3. Wordsworth's Intimations of Immortality. 4. Keats's Eve of St. 
Agnes. 5. Shelley's Skylark. 6. Selections from Pilgrim's Progress, Vicar 
of Wakefield, Robinson Crusoe, and Thomson's Seasons. 7. Selections 
from Dickens and Charles Lamb. 

III. -MANUAL STUDY. 

In addition to the study of a few representative authors, 
the pupil should have some acquaintance with the history 
of English literature as a whole, — its origin, growth, and 
gradual development. To this should be added a critical 
study of the various influences which have moulded the 
opinions and modified the literary career of the great 
writers of any particular period. 

In brief, the student should become more or less familiar 
with the story of English literature. '' It is the story of 
those ^ prophets, sages, and worthies ' of our nation, who, 
seeing more clearly than other men the truths of life, and 
what God meant the world to be, have striven in various 
forms — in poems, stories, plays, essays, sermons, and 
lively jests — to set forth the true ideal. The work of 
each has been his own, — shaped by his own individuality, 
tinged often by the circumstances of his own life, colored 
still more by the spirit and fashion of the age in which he 
lived ; but having running through it all the honest look- 
ing for what is right, and the endeavor to make others 
see it."' 

^ Anna Buckland's Story of English Literature. 



I30 FIRST STEPS TV ENGTISH CTASSICS. 

The student may thus become famiUar with the leading 
points in the history of our literature by occasional lessons 
from some manual, by oral instruction, or by a combina- 
tion of both methods. Any one of the many excellent 
manuals will answer every purpose, with some help from 
the teacher in arranging the subjects, omitting unnecessary 
or unimportant details, and harmonizing the whole by a 
series of topics specially adapted to the needs of each class. 

A text-book on the history of English literature will 
also prove useful as a work of reference, or a kind of com- 
mentary, to obtain facts concerning the life and times of 
minor authors, for dates, tables, historical data, and gen- 
eral information not otherwise easily obtained.^ 

Note. — For a list of the best text-books on English literature, 
and some suggestions on selecting the same, see Blaisdell's " Study 
of the English Classics," p. 290. 

IT. -ESSAYS ON GENERAL TOPICS. 

There are many points of general interest in English 
literature which maybe selected as the subjects of essays. 
These essays should be written by each member of the 

^ " The text-book amplified by the intelligent pupil, under the direction of the 
experienced teacher, becomes a means of exciting discussion, of giving life to the reci- 
tations, of stimulating thought in a most agreeable way, and of begetting enthusiasm 
for the study." — Gilman's First Steps in English Literature. 

'' A text-book in English literature should not assume functions which do not 
belong to it. A text-book, we think, is needed. It is needed to furnish the pupil 
that which he cannot help himself to. It may group the authors so that their places 
in the line and their relations to each other can be seen by the pupil ; it may throw 
light upon the authors' times and surroundings, and note the great influences at 
work helping to make their writings what they are ; it may present critical estimates 
of the leading writers, by those competent to make them, provided it requires the 
pupil to accept these judgments only as he finds them borne out by the passages 
quoted or the writings referred to : in all these ways and in other ways it may place 
the pupil on the best possible footing with those w^hose acquaintance it is his business 
as well as his pleasure to make." — Kellogg's Text-Book on English Literature. 



OUTLINE COURSE OF STUDY. 131 

class at the same time, and should be read and discussed 
on a given date. Instead of written essays, the same ob- 
ject may be accomplished by familiar talks or discussions. 
It is not expected, nor to be desired, that the young 
student should write an elaborate essay, or discuss pro- 
foundly these subjects; but one thing is sure, — that, with 
a little kindly advice and tact on the part of the teacher, 
very many important facts can be brought out by these 
general topics.' 

Examples. — i. Anglo-Saxon literature and scholars. 2. Chaucer's place 
in English literature. 3. English reformers -and martyrs. 4. English satire. 
5. English* humorists. 6. Novelists of the eighteenth century; nineteenth 
century. 7. Best allegories in prose and poetry. 8. King Alfred and his 
writings. 9. Period of English literature between Chaucer and Spenser. 10. 
Rise and progress of the English drama. 11. The Saxon element of our 
language. 12. English lyric poetry. 13. Famous letter- writers. 14. The 
best sonnets. 15. Select English ballads. 16. The English Bible in English 
literature. 17. Some well-known hymns. 18. Women as contributors to 
English literature. 19. The best biographies in our literature. 20. Distin- 
guishing characteristics of the Elizabethan period of English literature. 

Illustration. 

Outline for Topic No. 18. — Twelve leading female writers ; the time 
in which they lived ; why they were famous. Who was Lady Montagu ? 
Lady Jane Grey ? Hannah More, and her influence upon the times. Who 
was Fanny Burney.-' Maria Edgeworth.^ Mary Somerville .^ Mary Russell 
Mitford ? Who wrote " Jane Eyre " ? The famous female novelists of to- 
day, English and American. Mrs. Jameson } Who was Mrs. Browning 1 
Who was " George Eliot " ? Mrs. Mulock-Craik ? Jean Ingelow t Mrs. H. B. 
Stowe ? The leading female writers of America } 

^ " To teach the history of English literature, I take the time in the last year 
usually given to composition-writing. I assign to the class such topics as these : The 
Anglo-Saxons and their conquest of Britain, Introduction and spread of Christianity, 
Caedmon, Beowulf, Bede and his times, etc. The pupils prepare themselves by con- 
sulting histories to which they are referred, and at a regular hour, all books laid 
aside, write out what they have learned, thus producing the successive chapters of a 
history for themselves. This is usually the least allurmg part of the study ; but with 
a little encouragement, and perhaps a good deal of allowance, all will do acceptably 
well, and some few even creditably." — J. W. MacDonald. 



n2 FIRST STEPS IX ENGLISH CLASSICS. 



T.-ESSITS OX SPECIAL TOPICS. 

In most of our schools, pupils are required to prepare 
and read before the class or school, at stated times, an 
essay or ''composition" on some given subject. To the 
members of the class in English literature may be assigned 
at this time topics of a literary character which have a 
direct bearing upon the study. We give below a few 
subjects for illustration; others will readily suggest them- 
selves. 

Examples. — i. Something about Wycliffe and his Bible. 2. In his 
happy old age, Chaucer reads his exquisite story of Griselda to a group of 
friends. 3. Imaginary interview between Spenser and Raleigh. 4. Shak- 
speare reads a play before Queen Elizabeth. 5. Milton's visit to Galileo. 
6. The old miracle-plays and moralities. 7. Historical value of "Ivanhoe," 
" Kenilworth," etc. S. Dr. Johnson at Mrs. Thrale's tea-table. 9. An even- 
ing with Goldsmith in his attic. 10. Goldsmith and his friends at the club. 
II. With Bunyan in prison at Bedford. 12. Charles Lamb and his friends. 
13. The best works of fiction I have ever read. 14. Shall I read novels? 
15. What I know of Dickens as a writer. 16. Some of my favorite books. 
17. How I spent a day at Abbotsford, with Sir Walter Scott; at Farring- 
ford, with Tennyson; at Sannyside, with Irving; at Oak Knolls, with 
Whittier. iS. A stroll through London streets with Dickens, during which 
he points out some of his original characters. 19. What the "Jessamy 
Bride " told me about Goldsmith. 20. Famous books written in prison. 

Note. — For a list of topics, both general and special, see chap, xxiii. 
TI. - SUPPLEMEXTIRT READING. 

It will add greatly to the interest and the profit of any 
course of study in English literature, to supplement the 
regular work by a judicious amount of additional or col- 
lateral reading. This supposes a practical knowledge of 
suitable books on the part of the teacher, and a taste for 
healthful reading on the part of the young student. 



OUTLINE COURSE OF STUDY. 1 33 

Various books have been suggested in the following 
Syllabus, which are well adapted to our purpose. Other 
works equally useful will suggest themselves to the 
thoughtful teacher. 

It is not necessary to read the whole of a book: certain 
parts which have a special bearing on the topic under 
consideration are sufficient. For instance, chap. xiii. of 
Boswell's Life of Dr. Johnson has an interesting account 
of Oliver Goldsmith ; two chapters in Fields's ''Yesterdays 
with Authors" have delightful pen-pictures of Dickens and 
Hawthorne; Irving's ''Visit to Abbotsford" will naturally 
be read in connection with one of Scott's novels. 

There are a few works, aside from form^al text and 
reference books, easily found in most school and public 
libraries, and of special interest to the student who is dis- 
posed to supplement the work mapped out in this book by 
appropriate and suggestive reading. Among such works 
the following are recommended : Donald G. Mitchell's 
About Old Story-Tellers ; Kate Sanborn's Home Pictures 
of English Poets ; Morley's EngHsh Men of Letters 
Series, consisting of some forty brief biographies of as 
many great English authors, written by the most eminent 
scholars of our day; Arvine's Cyclopaedia of Literary An- 
ecdotes ; Fields's Yesterdays with Authors ; Homes and 
Haunts of our (American) Elder Poets ; American Men 
of Letters Series, and Poets' Homes Series. While book 
catalogues and advertisements are so common, it is not 
necessary to refer in detail to popular and interesting 
biographies of the day, like Kennedy's monographs on 
Longfellow and Whittier, Froude's Carlyle, Trevelyan's 
Life and Letters of Lord Macaulay, and many others of a 
similar character. 



134 F^IRSr STEPS IJV EXGLISH CLASSICS. 

One caution is necessary : Do not refer to many books 
Consult only a few and well-chosen books, or parts c: 
works. Let such select parts bear directly on the special 
subject under consideration. 

TH. — SniABUS OF A ':<:irE<E ly EyGLI^H uteeituee. 






^ slMjimld be gnonped 5 

:. '\ ". t'basm h& ready tc 

" -r repires€3nitatii-f 

- Tliiey Iwed. : 

^--^-rs^Iiehasp:; 



:r ents of any particular class. For insta: ::e. if 

T : ; : is ^ r.. to the subject, it would be useess 
: : 7 ; : : : : e text of Shakspeare, Miltc:.. 
1 : _ :i . J :i z : : 1: r - r : :: : .: instances, it would be advis i z . c 
to select only five or six representative authors, and study 
z\\ : ughly one or more of their productions, devoting :. r 
recitation every week to reading about the other autiiors, 
writing essays, etc. If two terms are allowed for English 
literature, select ten authors, and arrange the rest of the 
work as before. 

Two important things must be kept in mind in plan- 
ning a course of study : first, tJie time in lumrs^ and recita- 
tions allowed for tlie subject; and, secondly, tJie age and 
capabilities of tJie class. 



OUTLINE COURSE OE STUDY. 135 



I. — HENRY W. LONGFELLOW, 1807-1882. 

1. Selections to Study. — Wreck of the Hesperus; Norman Baroji ; Village 

Blacksmith ; Beleaguered City ; Goblet of Life ; vSir Humphrey Gilbert; 
Building of the Ship; The Light-house; Phantom Ship; Children's 
Hour; Fire of Drift-Wood. 

Note. — Titles of pieces printed in Italics indicate that the texts of such selections 
are given in this book. 

2. Collateral Study. — Dickens's Christmas Carol (English Classic Series). 

Selections from two of Dickens's novels. From David Copperfield : 
Ark at Yarmouth (chap, iii.), Little Em'ly (last third of chap, xxi.), 
The Tempest (chap. Iv.). From Old Curiosity Shop : Death of the Little 
Scholar (chap, xxv.), The Old Sexton (chaps, liii. and liv.), Death and 
Burial of Little Nell (chaps. Ixxi. and Ixxii.). 

3. Manual Study. — Three great writers of recent fiction: Charles Dickens, 

William M. Thackeray, George Eliot. 

4. Supplementary Reading. — Samuel Longfellow's Life of Henry W. Long- 

fellow. Austin's Longfellow : His Life, Works, and Friendships. 

5. Editions. —Evangeline, Courtship of Miles Standish, Hiawatha, Golden 

Legend, etc. (Riverside Literature Series). Select Poems (Miss Hodg- 
don's "Leaflet" Series). Longer Poems (Modern Classics Series^). 

2. — WASHINGTON IRVING, 1783-1859. 

1. Selections to Study. — From The Sketch-Book: The Voyage; Christmas 

Eve ; Return of Rip Van Winkle ; Ichabod Crane in Search of a Sweet- 
heart ; Rural Funerals; Mutability of Literature; The Widow and her 
Son ; The Broken Heart ; Westminster Abbey. 

2. Collateral Study. — Selections from Prescott ; Selections from Motley (Miss 

Hodgdon's "Leaflet" edition). 

3. Manual Study. — American historians : Prescott, Motley, Bancroft. 

4. Supplementary Reading. — C. D. Warner's Life of Irving. 

5. Editions. — Selections from The Sketch-Book; Legend of Sleepy Hollow 

(English Classic Series^) ; Six Selections from The Sketch-Book, edited 
by H. B. Sprague. ' 

1 A series of forty or more little volumes, including selections from the best English 
authors, issued in an inexpensive edition for school use. 

- A series of about two hundred little books in paper, including well-edited selections 
from English classic authors, and sold for lo cents each. 



136 FIRST STEPS IX EXGLISH CIASSICS. 

3. —JOHN G. WH'TT'ER. 1807-1892. 

1. Selections to Siudy. — 0:/: :f T--::c?K::i: : F--::: STirit : Line; :-i a Portrait : 

Snow -Bound; Skipper Ireson's Ride; Trust: Three Be^Is : Eternal 
Goodness. 

2. Collateral Study. — Benj.iniin Frank'in's Autobiography, Poor Richard's 

Almanac 'Riverside Literature series). 

0. Manual Study. — Benjamin Franl;'-:::. 

4. Supplementary Eeadiug. — McMasters's Life of Benjamin Franklin. 

5. Editions. — Sncw-Bcur.:.. and Among ti:e Hii's : Alabel Martin, and other 

Poems (Riverside Literature Series*'. Seie:: I rents ALss Hjf^don's 
'' Leaflet " edition). Seie:t F:en:s AL'iern Classics edition]. 

4. — 0Lr,E~ GOLDSVITH, 1728-1774; 

1. Selections to Study. — Z^r.v '.v.:' /";."/.:/:-; Z/'.:: :.1V/' .• Selections from Vicar 

of Wakeneld. 

2. Collateral Study. — Selections from Swift's Gulliver's Travels; Selections 

from De Foe's Robinsin Crt;s:e (Classics f;r Children edition^). 

3. Manual Study. — First ^re:,t v,r;:ers of ncticn: De Foe, Richardson, Swift, 

Fielding. Sterne. Sn::ll.:t. Dr, TCtnsrn. 

4. Supplementary Reading. — L'vlnz's Life :f Cxrldsntbh: ch.'p. x:;i. of BoswelPs 

Life of Dr. Jehus. n: Mjieaul^v's Lssays en GChsmith en;l Dr. Johnson. 

5. Editions. — Desertee Villege. and Traveller (MacmiCen's EngCsh Classics '. 

Select Poems iRelfcb Eu_:i:C: Classics). Descrtc:! Village, ana Trav- 
eller; Vicar of Wakedeld >al:rl:l^ed . English Classic Series \ 

5.-iVILL/A',! CULLEN BRYANT. 1794-1878. 

1. Selections to Study. — 7"-:- Jr':i::F:7F D;:r : T: .: Jr:r-Fowl ; Death 

cf t':: /ICtfu-r; F:--::::::: Green River: Evening Wind; Crowded 
Street; Autumn Woods ; Fringed (xentian : Sv.nn.er Wind ; The Past: 
IL. me te the Xerth Star ; Planting of the Appie-Tree. 

2. Collateral Study. — Eager A. Pes Raven, The Gold Bug; Lowell's Vision 

of Sir Lavnfal. 

3. Manual Study. — Edgar A. Poe. X. P. Whlis, Fitz-Greene Halleck, James 

Russell Lowell. 

4. Supplementary Reading-. — John Bigelow's Life of Bryant; Spnington's 

0. Editions. — Select P e as Enghsh Cht-- ie Series). Select Poems (Miss 
H; Igins Leahet elitie . . A G b Studies in Bryant. 

^ A series of thirty or more little books, in z : r r, : :' _; :. r.^ selectioiis from the best Ameri- 
can authors, averaging about seventy pages each . a:. . ; '. :': r : 5 rer.ts each. 

2 A seri^ of twenty or moie volumes of the see:; . ::;<5 :f s.ir.iard authors. Price, from 
25 to 50 cents each. 



OUTLINE COURSE OF STUDY, 1 37 

6. — THOMAS GRAY, 1716-1777. 

1. Selections to Study. — Elegy iii a Coujitry Chiwchyard ; The Bard; Prog- 

ress of Poesy. 

2. Collateral Study. — Macaulay's Essay on Warren Hastings; Burke's Speech 

on American Taxation (abridged). (English Classic Series.) 

3. Manual Study. — Macaulay, Edmund Burke. 

4. Supplementary Reading. — Gosse's Life of Gray (English Men of Letters 

Series). 

5. Editions. — Select Poems (Rolfe's English Classics). Select Poems (Eng- 

lish Classic Series). Select Poems (Clarendon Press Series). 

7, — NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE, 1804-1864. 

1. Selections to Study. — From the Twice-Told Tales: Liff/e A mti e^ s Ramble ; 

Gentle Boy ; Sister Years ; Edward Fane's Rosebud. From Mosses 
from an Old Manse: The Old House; A Select Party; Celestial Rail- 
road ; Intelligence Office ; Earth's Holocaust. From Snow Image and 
Twice-Told Tales : Snow Image ; Great Stone Face ; Canterbury Pil- 
grims ; Wives of the Dead ; Little Daffydowndilly. 

2. Collateral Study. — Ralph Waldo Emerson's poem on Monadnoc; essays 

on Behavior, from The Conduct of Life, and Books, from Society and 
Solitude. 

3. Manual Study. — James Fenimore Cooper, Harriet Beecher Stowe, Bayard 

Taylor, Henry Thoreau, Ralph Waldo Emerson. 

4. Supplementary Reading. — J. R. Lowell's Life of Hawthorne ; article in 

Fields's Yesterday with Authors. 

5. Editions. — True Stories from New-England History; Grandfather's Chair; 

Biographical Stories ; Tanglewood Tales (Riverside Literature Series). 
Twice-Told Tales (Modern Classics Series). 

8.— ROBERT BURNS, 1759-1796. 

1. Selections to Study. — Cotter^ s Saturday Night ; To a Mouse; To a Moun- 

tain Daisy ; Banks of Doon; Highland Mary ; To Mary in Heaven, 

2. Collateral Study. — Collins's Ode to Evening; Shelley's Skylark; Keats's 

Eve of St. Agnes. 

3. Manual Study. — Collins, Shelley, Keats. 

4. Supplementary Reading. — Shairp's Life of Burns; Carlyle's Essay on 

Burns. 

5. Editions. — Select Poems (English Classic Series). Select Poems (Hud- 

son's English Authors). 



138 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

9.— OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES, 1809-1894. 

1. Selections to Studyo — Last Leaf; My Aunt; Living Temple; Under the 

Violets; Chambered Nautilus ; Old Ironsides; Stethoscope Song; Dea- 
con's Masterpiece; Hymn of Trust; Voyage of the Good Ship Union; 
Union and Liberty. 

2. Collateral Study. — Daniel Websrer's Bunker -Hill Monument Orations; 

Oration on Adams and Jefferson (English Classic Series). 

3. Manual Study. — Daniel Webster, John G. Saxe. 

4. Supplementary Reading. — Holmes's Sketch of Motley. 

5. Editions. — Select Poems (Miss Hodgdon's "Leaflet" edition). Favorite 

Poems (Modern Classics Series). Select Prose (Modern Classics 

Series). 

10.— SIR WALTER SCOTT, 1771-1832. 

1. Selections to Study. — Jeanie Deans pleading for her Sister'' s Life, from 

Heart of Mid Lothian ; The Escape fro??i the Cliff's ., from The Antiquary. 
Selections from Ivanhoe, Talisman, Kenilworth. 

2. Collateral Study. — Campbell's Battle of the Baltic, and Lochiel's Warning. 

Wordsworth's Intimations of Immortality. 
8. Manual Study. — Thomas Campbell, William Wordsworth. 
4. Supplementary Reading. — Hutton's Life of Scott (English Men of Letters 

Series). Donald G. Mitchell's Old Story-Tell ers. 

6. Editions. — Lady of the Lake; Marmion ; Lay of the Last Minstrel 

(Rolfe's English Classics). Lady of the Lake; Marmion (English 
Classic Series). Lady of the Lake ; Marmion ; Lay of the Last Minstrel 
(Globe Reading Series). Talisman; Quentin Durward; Monastery; 
Guy Mannering ; Ivanhoe (Classics for Children). 

11. — ALFRED TENNYSON, 1809-1892. 

1. Selections to Study. — Dora ; Lady Clare ; Lord of Burleigh ; In the Chil- 
dren'' s Hospital ; Defence of Lucknow ; Ulysses; Sir Galahad; Enoch 
Arden; Death of the Old Year; St. Agnes' Eve; Sea Dreams; Lady 
of Shalott; Margaret; Blackbird; Godiva; Lotus- Eaters ; Ode on the 
Death of the Duke of Wellington; Morte D' Arthur. 

3. Collateral Study. — Select Poems from Mrs. Browning (English Classic 

Series) ; Select Poems from Robert Browning (Rolfe's English Classics). 
g. Manual Study. — Mrs. Browning, Robert Browning, Jean Ingelow. 

4. Supplementary Reading. -— Fields's Yesterday with Authors. 

5. Editions. — Enoch Arden, and Lotus Eaters ; Two Voices ; Elaine ; In 

Memoriam (English Classic Series). The Princess; Young People's 
Tennyson; Select Poems; Enoch Arden, and other Poems (Rolfe's 
English Classics). Select Poems (Modern Classics). 



OUTLINE COURSE OF STUDY, 1 39 

12, — JOSEPH ADDISON, 1672-1719. 

1. Selections to Study. — From the Spectator: Vision of Mirza (No. 159); 

Sir Roger in the Country (No. 106); Sir Roger at Chitrch (No. 112); 
Death of Sir Roger (No. 517); Sir Roger at Westminster Abbey (No. 
329); On the Use o£ Time (No. 93); Immortality (No. iii); Laughter 
and Ridicule (No. 249) ; Tale of Marraton (No. 50) ; Dreams (No= 487) ; 
On the Idea of God (No. 531); Cheerfulness (No. 381); Time and 
Eternity (No. 575). 

2. Collateral Study. — Dryden's Alexander's Feast ; selections from Pope's 

Essay on Man. 

3. Manual Study.- — Dryden, Steele, Lady Montagu, Pope. 

4. Supplementary Reading. — Macaulay's Essay on Addison. 

6. Editions. — Sir Roger de Coverley Papers (English Classic Series). 
Essays from The Spectator (Hudson's English Classics). 

13. — LORD BYRON, 1788-1824. 

1. Selections to Study. — Prisoner of Chillon. Selections from Childe Harold: 

I. Good Night (Canto I.); 2. Lake Leman (Canto III., stanza 85) ; 3. 
Waterloo (Canto III., stanza 21); 4. Gibbon and Voltaire (Canto III., 
stanza 105); 5. Venice (Canto IV., stanza i); 6. A Woman's Grace 
(Canto IV., stanza 99) ; 7. Time (Canto IV., stanza 130); 8. Gladiator 
(Canto IV., stanza 140) ; 9. Apostrophe to the Ocean (Canto IV., 
stanza 179). 

2. Collateral Study. — Coleridge's Ancient Mariner. 

3. Manual Study. — Coleridge, Robert Southey. 

4. Supplementary Reading. — Macaulay's Essay on Byron ; Southey's Life of 

Nelson. 

5. Editions. — Childe Harold (Rolfe's English Classics). Childe Harold 

(Clarendon Press Series). Select Poems (Franklin Square Library). 

14-. — WILLIAM COWPER, 1731-1800. 

1. Selections to Study. — On Receipt of my Mother'' s Picture ; John Gilpin ; 

Alexander Selkirk ; Religious Hymais. 

2. Collateral Study. — Selections from Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress; Selec- 

tions from Cowper's Letters. 

3. Manual Study. — John Bunyan. Great historians : Hume, Gibbon, Rob- 

ertson. 

4. Supplementary Reading. — Goldwin Smith's Life of Cowper ; Macaulay's 

Essay on Bunyan. 

6. Editions. — The Task (English Classic Series). The Task (Clarendon 

Press Series). 



I40 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

15. — WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE, 1564-1616, 

i. Selections to Study. — (See chap, xxi.) See "Study of the English Clas- 
sics" (chap. xvi. p. 199). 

2. Collateral Study. — Selections from Marlowe's Dr. Faustus, and Ben Jon- 

son's Every Man in his own Humour ; Chaucer's Prologue to Canterbury 
Tales (Clarendon Press Series). 

3. Manual Study. — Chaucer. Elizabethan dramatists : Marlowe, Ben Jonson, 

Beaumont and Fletcher, Massinger, Ford, Webster. 

4. Supplementary Reading. — Charles Lamb's Tales from Shakspeare; selected 

(English Classic Series). The same, nearly complete (Classics for 
Children). Mrs. Jameson's Characteristics of Shakspeare's Women. 
Hudson's Life, Art, and Characters of Shakspeare. 

16. — JOHN MILTON, 1608-1674. 

1. Selections to Study. — Lycidas ; Comus; L' Allegro; II Penseroso. 

2. Collateral Study. — Spenser's Prothalamion ; Bacon's Essays on Studies, 

Death, Goodness, Cunning. 
8. Manual Study. — Lord Bacon, Edmund Spenser. Great theologians : Isaac 
Barrow, Jeremy Taylor, Tillotson, South, Fuller. 

4. Supplementary Reading. — Macaulay's Essay on Milton. 

5. Editions. — Paradise Lost (Books I. and II.), and Lycidas (Sprague's 

English Classics). Paradise Lost (Book 1.) ; Lycidas; L' Allegro; II 
Penseroso ; Comus ; Samson Agonistes (Clarendon Press Series). The 
same poems (English Classic Series). 

17. — WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, 1710-1850- 

1. Selections to Study. — Inthjiations of Lnniortality ; Laodamia; Tintern 

Abbey; Character of the Happy Warrior; Yarrow Visited. 

2. Collateral Study. — Shelley's Cloud; Keats's Grecian Urn; Campbell's 

Odes; Selections from Moore's Irish Melodies. 

3. Manual Study. — Keats, Shelley, Campbell, Moore, Hood, Mrs. Hemans, 

Hannah More. 

4. Supplementary Reading. — Charles Lamb's Essays of Elia; Shairp's Essay 

on Wordsworth; Barry Cornwall's Sketch of Charles Lamb; Dowden's 
Introduction to Poems by Wordsworth (the Athaeneum Press Series); 
Myers's Life of Wordsworth (English Men of Letters). 



HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. 14 1 



REPRESENTATIVE AUTHORS. 

" After the pupil has become familiar with the process, and can readily analyze 
the passages he reads with regard to the merit of the thought, the aptness of the 
expression, and the congruity of the parts, he may proceed to the eminent authors 
of our language, to whose writings a higher veneration is due. Here he would find 
it no longer necessary to follow step by step the process to which he had been 
trained ; but the merit of the thought and the force of the expression would be per- 
ceived by him at a glance, just as an eye accustomed to the machinery of watches 
perceives the ingenious construction and the exquisite workmanship of a chronometer, 
without separating the parts." — William Cullen Bryant. 



CHAPTER VII. 

HENRY W. LONGFELLOW (1807-1882). 

" He has composed poems which will live as long as the language in which they 
are written." — James Russell Lowell. 

" His poetry expresses a universal sentiment, in the simplest and most melodious 
manner." — George William Curtis. 

In the city of Cambridge, Mass., a few miles from 
Boston, lived one of America's most distinguished poets, 
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. This famous author was 
born in Portland, Me., in 1807, and graduated at Bowdoin 
College in 1825, in the same class with Nathaniel Haw- 
thorne. Shortly after graduation, he was appointed pro- 
fessor of modern languages at Bowdoin College, and was 
allowed leave of absence to continue his studies in Europe. 
On his return, he entered upon the duties of his professor- 
ship, and in the mean time translated from the Spanish 
the '' Coplas de Manrique," and furnished several articles 



14^ 



FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 



for the "North-American Review." ''Outre Mer" was 
his first original work, and was pubHshed in 1835. One 
year later, he was chosen professor of 'modern languages 
in Harvard University, and, before entering upon his 
duties, again went abroad, and was absent for two years. 

In 1839 appeared his ro- 
mance '' Hyperion," a book 
glowing with poetic thought, 
and instinct with poetic ex- 
pression. In the same year 
was published ''Voices of 
the Night," a collection of 
his most widely known 
poems. It contained " The 
Psalm of Life," ''The 
Reaper and the Flowers," 
" The Beleaguered City, " 
and other poems, which 
were very popular, and 
marked Longfellow as a 
poet of the first rank. The 
publication of another vol- 
ume of " Ballads and Other Poems," two years later, 
established his fame, including, as it did, " The Wreck 
of the Hesperus," " Excelsior," and " The Village Black- 
smith." 

He resigned his professorship in 1854, but continued to 
reside at Cambridge. For over a half-century Longfellow 
was a most industrious contributor to American literature, 
and is universally recognized as one of the greatest and 
most popular poets of our time. He died in 1882. It has 
been said that " the poetry of Longfellow is a gospel of good- 




HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. 



HENRY W. LONGFELLOW, 143 

will set to music. It has carried sweetness and light to 
thousands of homes. It is blended with our holiest affec- 
tions and our immortal hopes." 

Longfellow resided in the " Craigie House," Cambridge, 
a mansion famous as being the headquarters of Washing- 
ton during the Revolution. He was of medium height, 
well made, w4th no sign of age in figure or walk. His 
head and face were eminently poetic, his forehead broad, 
benignant, and full. The great charm of his face cen- 
tred in his eyes ; of an unclouded blue, deep set, under 
overhanging brows, they had an indescribable expression 
of thought and tenderness. Though seamed w^ith many 
wrinkles, his face was rarely without the rosy hue of 
health, and appeared that of a much younger man, but for 
its frame of snow-white hair. Hair and whiskers were 
long, abundant, and wavy, and gave the poet the look of 
a patriarch. 



THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. 

Under a spreading chestnut-tree 

The village smithy stands : 
The smith, a mighty man is he, 

With large and sinewy hands ; 
And the muscles of his brawny arms 

Are strong as iron bands. 

His hair is crisp, and black, and long, 

His face is like the tan ; 
His brow is wet with honest sweat, 

He earns whate'er he can, 
And looks the whole world in the face, 

For he owes not any man. 



144 J^IRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

Week in, week out, from morn till night, 

You can hear his bellows blow ; 
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, '5 

With measured beat and slow. 
Like a sexton ringing the village-bell, 

When the evening sun is low. 

And children coming home from school 

Look in at the open door ; 2c 

They love to see the flaming forge, 
And hear the bellows roar. 

And catch the burning sparks that fly 
Like chaff from a threshing-floor. 

He goes on Sunday to the church, 25 

And sits among his boys ; 
He hears the parson pray and preach, 

He hears his daughter's voice, 
Singing in the village choir. 

And it makes his heart rejoice. 3^ 

It sounds to him like her mother's voice, 

Singing in Paradise ! 
He needs must think of her once more, 

How in the grave she lies ; 
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes 35 

A tear out of his eyes. 

Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing. 

Onward through life he goes ; 
Each morning sees some task begin, 

Each evening sees it close ; 4° 

Something attempted, something done, 

Has earned a night's repose. 



HEXRY W. LONGFELLOW. 145 

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, 

For the lesson thou hast taught ! 
Thus at the flaming forge of hfe 45 

Our fortunes must be wrought ; 
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped 

Each burning deed and thought. 



THE BELEAGUERED CITY. 

I HAVE read, in some old, marvellous tale, 
Some legend strange and vague, 

That a midnight host of spectres pale 
Beleaguered the walls of Prague. 

Beside the Moldau's rushing stream, 
With the wan moon overhead, 

There stood, as in an awful dream, 
The army of the dead. 

White as a sea- fog landward bound, 
The spectral camp was seen ; 

And with a sorrowful, deep sound, 
The river flowed between. 

No other voice nor sound was there, 

No drum, nor sentry's pace : 
The mist-Hke banners clasped the air. 

As clouds with clouds embrace. 

But, when the old cathedral bell 
Proclaimed the morning prayer, 

The white pavilions rose and fell 
On the alarmed air. 



146 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS, 

Down the broad valley fast and far 

The troubled army fled : 
Up rose the glorious morning star, 

The ghastly host was dead. 

I have read, in the marvellous heart of man, 25 

That strange and mystic scroll, 
That an army of phantoms vast and wan 

Beleaguer the human soul. 

Encamped beside Life's rushing stream, 

In Fancy's misty light, 3° 

Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam 
Portentous through the night. 

Upon its midnight battle-ground 

The spectral camp is seen ; 
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, 35 

Flows the River of Life between. 

No other voice, nor sound is there, 

In the army of the grave ; 
No other challenge breaks the air 

But the rushing of Life's wave. 40 

And when the solemn and deep church-bell 

Entreats the soul to pray. 
The midnight phantoms feel the spell, 

The shadows sweep away. 

Down the broad Vale of Tears afar 45 

The spectral camp is fled ; 
Faith shineth as a morning star. 

Our ghastly fears are dead. 



HENRY W. LONGFELLOW, 1 47 



THE GOBLET OF LIFE. 

Filled is Life's goblet to the brim ; 
And though my eyes with tears are dim, 
I see its sparkHng bubbles swim, 
And chant a melancholy hymn 

With solemn voice and slow. 5 

No purple flowers, no garlands green, 
Conceal the goblet's shade or sheen, 
Nor maddening draughts of Hippocrene, 
Like gleams of sunshine, flash between 

Thick leaves of mistletoe. 10 

This goblet, wrought with curious art, 
Is filled with waters that upstart 
When the deep fountains of the heart, 
By strong convulsions rent apart, 

x\re running all to waste. 15 

And as it mantHng passes round, 
With fennel is it wreathed and crowned, 
Whose seed and foliage sun-imbrowned 
Are in its waters steeped and drowned. 

And give a bitter taste. 20 

Above the lowly plants it towers. 
The fennel, with its yellow flowers, 
And in an earlier age than ours 
Was gifted with the wondrous powers 

Lost vision to restore. 25 

It gave new strength, and fearless mood ; 
And gladiators, fierce and rude. 
Mingled it in their daily food ; 
And he who battled and subdued, 

A wreath of fennel wore. 3° 



148 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

Then in Life's goblet freely press 
The leaves that give it bitterness, 
Nor prize the colored waters less, 
For in thy darkness and distress 

New hght and strength they give ! 35 

And he who has not learned to know 
How false its sparkling bubbles show, 
How bitter are the drops of woe 
With which its brim may overflow, — 

He has not learned to live. 40 

The prayer of Ajax was for light ; 
Through all that dark and desperate fight. 
The blackness of that noonday night, 
He asked but the return of sight, 

To see his foeman's face. 45 

Let our unceasing, earnest prayer 
Be, too, for light, — for strength to bear 
Our portion of the weight of care 
That crushes into dumb despair 

One half the human race. 5° 

O suffering, sad humanity ! 

ye afflicted ones, who lie 
Steeped to the lips in misery, 
Longing, and yet afraid to die. 

Patient, though sorely tried ! 55 

1 pledge you in this cup of grief, 
Where floats the fennel's bitter leaf I 
The Battle of our Life is brief. 

The alarm, — the struggle, — the relief, — 

Then sleep we side by side. 6° 



WASHING TON IRVING, 149 



CHAPTER VIII. 

WASHINGTON IRVING, 1783-1859. 

"If he wishes to study a style which possesses the characteristic beauties of 
Addison's, its ease, simphcity, and elegance, with greater accuracy, point, and spirit, 
let him give his days and nights to the volumes of Irving." — Edward Everett's 
Advice to a Student. 

Washington Irving, one of the earliest and most popu- 
lar of American authors, and of whom Thackeray happily 
spoke as '' the first ambassador whom the New World of 
letters sent to the Old," was born in New York City in 
1783. He received only a common-school education, 
leaving the schoolroom at sixteen, yet for many years 
afterward pursued a systematic course of reading of the 
standard authors, especially Chaucer, Spenser, and Bun- 
yan. In his boyhood days he seemed to have a natural 
talent for writing essays and stories. As he always de- 
tested mathematics, he often wrote compositions for his 
schoolmates, and they in turn worked out his problems for 
him. He studied law for a time, but, not being inclined 
to submit to the drudgery of a profession, preferred to 
employ himself in rambling excursions around Manhattan 
Island, by which he became familiar with the beautiful 
scenery which he afterward made famous by his pen. 
Thus he acquired that minute knowledge of various his- 
torical locations, curious traditions and legends, so beauti- 



ISO 



FIRST STEPS IX EXGLISH CLASSICS. 



fully made use of in his ''Sketch-Book" and *' History of 
New York." 

In 1804, being threatened with pulmonary disease, he 
sailed for Europe, and remained abroad for nearly two 
years. On his return, he undertook to resume his le^^al 
practice, but without success. In company with others, 
he began the publication of a serial called "Salmagundi." 

It was well conducted, and 
proyed successful. In 1809 
he published his " Knicker- 
bocker's History of New 
York," ''the most unique, 
perfectly rounded, and 
elaborately sustained bur- 
lesque in our literature." 
He conducted a magazine 
in Philadelphia for two 
years, to which he con- 
tributed articles afterward 
included in ''The Sketch- 
Book." In 1 8 14 he seryed 
as an aide to Goy. Tomp- 
kins, and at the end of the war again went to Europe, 
where he continued to liye for the next seyenteen years. 
By the failure of his brother he lost all his property ; and, 
haying been thus thrown upon his owm resources, he de- 
yoted himself to literature to earn a living. His " Sketch- 
Book " was published in 1S19. By the personal influence 
of Sir Walter Scott it was republished in London, and at 
once established Irying's reputation as a great author. 

His next works were "Bracebridge Hall," published in 
1822, and "Tales of a Traveller" in 1824. Having been 




WASHINGTON IR\^NG. 



WA SHING TON IR VI NG. 1 5 I 

commissioned to make some translations from the Spanish, 
he took up his residence in Madrid. To this residence in 
Spain we are indebted for some of his most charming 
works, as, ''Life of Columbus," ''Conquest of Granada," 
"The Alhambra," "Mahomet and his Successors," and 
"Spanish Papers." He returned to America in 1832, 
During the next ten years were published "Astoria," " Ad= 
ventures of Captain Bonneville," and "Wolfert's Roost." 
In 1842, Irving w^as appointed minister to Spain. His 
"Life of Goldsmith" was published four years later, after 
his return home. His last and most carefully written work 
was the "Life of Washington," in five volumes. 

Irving's last years were spent at "Sunnyside," his 
delightful residence at Tarrytown on the Hudson, in the 
midst of the beautiful scenes which he has immortalized. 
Irving died Nov. 28, 1859, ^^e same year with Prescott 
the historian, and Macaulay. A friend who saw much of 
our author in his latter days thus describes him : " He 
had dark-gray eyes, a handsome straight nose which 
might perhaps be called large, a broad, high, full forehead, 
and a small mouth. I should call him of medium height, 
— about five feet and nine inches, — and inclined to be a 
trifle stout. His smile was exceedingly genial, lightening 
up his whole face, and rendering it very attractive ; while, 
if he were abotit to say any thing humorous, it would beam 
forth from his eyes even before his words were spoken." 

In one of his charming "Easy Chair" essays, George 
William Curtis says, "Irving was as quaint a figure as the 
Diedrich Knickerbocker in the preliminary advertisement 
of the History of New York. Thirty years ago he might 
have been seen on an autumnal afternoon, tripping with 
an elastic step along Broadway, with low quartered shoes 



152 FIRST STEPS IX EXGIISH CLASSICS. 



neatly tied, and a Talma cloak, — a short garment like the 
cape of a coat. There was a chirping, cheerv, old-school 
air in his appearance, which was undeniably Dutch, and 
most harmonious with the association of his writins;. He 

seemed, indeed, to have stepped out of his own books; 
and the cordial grace and humor of his address, if he 
stopped for a passing chat, were delightfully characteris- 
tic. He was then our most famous man of letters, but he 
was simply free from all self-consciousness and assumption 
and dogmatism." 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 

[Fro-i " Christ-^as Eve" in The Sketch-Book.] 

As we approached the house we heard the sound of music, 
and now and then a burst of laughter from one end of the build- 
ing. This, Bracebridge sjiid. must proceed from the serv:m:s" hill. 
where a great deal of revdry was permitted, and even encoura^'ed. 
by the Squire, throughout the twelve days oi Christmas, provided 
every thing was done conformably to ancient usage. Here were 
kept up the old games of hoodman blind, shoe the wild rnare. hot 
cockles, steal the white loaf, bob-apple, and snap-dragon : the 
Yule clog and Christmas candle were rc^^ub--rbv" burned ; and the 
mistletoe, with its white berries, hung up to the imminent peril of 
all the pretty housemaids. 

So intent were the servants upon their sports, that we had to 
ring repeatedly before we could make ourselves heard. On our 
arrival being announced, the Spaire came out to receive us. 
accompanied by his two other -r-ns. — ^ one a young ofhcer in the 
army, home on leave of abscuce : the other an Oxonian, just from 
the university. The Squire was a linr. heabhy-'.^ckin^' old gentle- 
man, with silver hair curling lightly round an up en. liond cuunte- 



WASHINGTON IRVING. 1 53 

nance ; in which the physiognomist, with the advantage Hke myself 
of a previous hint or two, might discover a singular mixture of 
whim and benevolence. 

The family meeting was warm and affectionate. As the evening 
was far advanced the Squire would not permit us to change our 
travelling dresses, but ushered us at once to the company, which 
was assembled in a large old-fashioned hall. It was composed of 
different branches of a numerous family connection, where there 
were the usual proportion of old uncles and aunts, comfortable 
married dames, superannuated spinsters, blooming country cousins, 
half- fledged striplings, and bright- eyed boarding-school hoidens. 
They were variously occupied : some at a round game of cards, 
others conversing around the fireplace ; at one end of the hall 
was a group of the young folks, some nearly grown up, others of a 
more tender and budding age, fully engrossed by a merry game ; 
and a profusion of wooden horses, penny trumpets, and tattered 
dolls, about the floor, showed traces of a troop of little fairy beings, 
who, having frolicked through a happy day, had been carried off 
to slumber through a peaceful night. 

While the mutual greetings were going on between young 
Bracebridge and his relatives, I had time to scan the apartment. 
I have called it a hall, for so it had certainly been in old times, 
and the Squire had evidently endeavored to restore it to some- 
thing of its primitive state. Over the heavy projecting fireplace 
was suspended a picture of a warrior in armor, standing by a white 
horse, and on the opposite wall hung a helmet, buckler, and lance. 
At one end an enormous pair of antlers were inserted in the wall, 
the branches serving as hooks on which to suspend hats, whips, 
and spurs ; and in the corners of the apartment were fowling- 
pieces, fishing-rods, and other sporting implements. The furniture 
was of the cumbrous workmanship of former days ; though some 
articles of modern convenience had been added, and the oaken 
floor had been carpeted, so that the whole presented an odd 
mixture of parlor and hall. 



154 FIRST STEPS IN ENGIISH CLASSICS, 

The grate had been removed from the wide, overwhelming fire- 
place, to make way for a fire of wood, in the midst of which was 
an enormous log glowing and blazing, and sending forth a vast 
volume of fight and heat ; this I understood was the Yule clog 
which the Squire was particular in having brought in and illumined 
on a Christmas eve according to ancient custom. 

It was really delightful to see the old Squire seated in his 
hereditary elbow-chair by the hospitable fireside of his ancestors, 
and looking around him fike the sun of a system, beaming warmth 
and gladness to every heart. Even the very dog that lay stretched 
at his feet, as he lazily shifted his position and yawned, would look 
fondly up in his master's face, wag his tail against the floor, and 
stretch himself again to sleep, confident of kindness and protec- 
tion. There is an emanation from the heart in genuine hospitality 
which cannot be described, but is immediately felt, and puts the 
stranger at once at his ease. I had not been seated many minutes 
by the comfortable hearth of the worthy old cavalier, before I 
found myself as much at home as if I had been one of the family. 

Supper was announced shortly after our arrival. It was served 
up in a spacious oaken chamber, the panels of which shone with 
wax, and around which were several family portraits decorated 
with holly and ivy. Besides the accustomed lights, two great wax 
tapers, called Christmas candles, wreathed with green, were placed 
on a highly-polished buffet among the family plate. The table 
was abundantly spread with substantial fare ; but the Squire made 
his supper of frumenty, a dish made of wheat cakes boiled in milk 
with rich spices, being a standing dish in old times for Christmas 
eve. 

The supper had disposed every one to gayety, and an old 
harper was summoned from the servants' hall, where he had been 
strumming all the evening, and to all appearance comforting him- 
self with some of the Squire's home-brewed. He was a kind of 
hanger-on, I was told, of the establishment, and, though ostensibly 
a resident of the village, was oftener to be found in the Squire's 



WASHIXGTON IRVING, 155 

kitchen than his own home : the old gentleman being fond of the 
sound of '' harp in hall." 

The dance, like most dances after supper, was a merry one ; 
some of the older folks joined in it, and the Squire himself figured 
down several couple with a partner with whom, he affirmed, he 
had danced at every Christmas for nearly half a century. 

The party broke up for the night with the kind-hearted old 
custom of shaking hands. As I passed through the hall, on my 
way to my chamber, the dying embers of the Yule clog still sent 
forth a dusky glow ; and had it not been the season when " no 
spirit dares stir abroad," I should have been half tempted to steal 
from my room at midnight, and peep whether the fairies might 
not be at their revels about the hearth. 

My chamber was in the old part of the mansion, the ponderous 
furniture of which might have been fabricated in the days of the 
giants. The room was panelled with cornices of heavy carved 
work, in which flowers and grotesque faces were strangely inter- 
mingled, and a row of black-looking portraits stared mournfully at 
me from the walls. The bed was of rich, though faded, damask, 
with a lofty tester, and stood in a niche opposite a bow-window. 
I had scarcely got into bed, when a strain of music seemed to 
break forth in the air just below the window. I listened, and 
found it proceeded from a band, which I concluded to be the 
waits from some neighboring village. They went round the house, 
playing under the windows. I drew aside the curtains to hear 
them more distinctly. The moonbeams fell through the upper 
part of the casement, partially lighting up the antiquated apart- 
ments. The sounds as they receded became more soft and aerial, 
and seemed to accord with the quiet and moonlight. I listened and 
listened ; they became more and more tender and remote, and, as 
they gradually died away, my head sunk upon the pillow^ and I fell 
asleep. 



IS 6 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

RETURN OF RIP VAN WINKLE. 

[From " Rip Van Winkle," in The Sketch Book.] 

Rip is an indolent, good-natured fellow, living in a village on the Hudson. While 
shooting among the Kaatskill Mountains he meets with a mysterious party engaged 
in rolling ninepins, drinks deeply of the liquor they furnish him, and falls into a 
deep sleep which lasts twenty years, during which the Revolutionary War takes 
place. After awaking, Rip returns to the village, which he finds busied with an 
election. 

He had now entered the skirts of the village. A troop of 
strange children ran at his heels, hooting after him, and pointing 
at his gray beard. The dogs, too, not one of which he recognized 
for an old acquaintance, barked at him as he passed. The very 
village was altered ; it was larger and more populous. There were 
rows of houses which he had never seen before, and those which 
had been his familiar haunts had disappeared. Strange names 
were over the doors, strange faces at the windows — every thing 
was strange. His mind now misgave him ; he began to doubt 
whether both he and the world around him were not bewitched. 
Surely this was his native village, which he had left but the day 
before. There stood the Kaatskill Mountains, there ran the silver 
Hudson at a distance, there was every hill and dale precisely as it 
had always been. Rip was sorely perplexed. " That flagon last 
night," thought he, '' has addled my poor head sadly." 

It was with some difficulty that he found the way to his own 
house, which he approached with silent awe, expecting every 
moment to hear the shrill voice of Dame Van Winkle. He found 
the house gone to decay — the roof fallen in, the windows shattered, 
and the doors off the hinges. A half-starved dog, that looked like 
Wolf, was skulking about it. Rip called him by name ; but the cur 
snarled, showed his teeth, and passed on. This was an unkind cut 
indeed. " My very dog," sighed poor Rip, " has forgotten me ! " 

He entered the house, which, to tell the truth, Dame Van 



IV A SHING TON IR VI NG. 1 5 7 

Winkle had always kept in neat order. It was empty, forlorn, and 
apparently abandoned. This desolateness overcame all his con- 
nubial fears. He called loudly for his wife and children. The 
lonely chambers rang for a moment with his voice, and then all 
again was silence. 

He now hurried forth, and hastened to his old resort, the vil- 
lage inn ; but it, too, was gone. A large, rickety wooden building 
stood in its place, with great gaping windows, some of them 
broken, and mended with old hats and petticoats ; and over the 
door was painted, ^^The Union Hotel, by Jonathan Doohttle." 
Instead of the great tree that used to shelter the quiet little Dutch 
inn of yore, there nov/ was reared a tall, naked pole, with some- 
thing on the top that looked like a red nightcap ; and from it 
was fluttering a flag, on which was a singular assemblage of stars 
and stripes. All this was strange and incomprehensible. He 
recognized on the sign, however, the ruby face of King George, 
under which he had smoked so many a peaceful pipe ; but even 
this was singularly metamorphosed. The red coat was changed 
for one of blue and buff, a sword was held in the hand instead of 
a sceptre, the head was decorated with a cocked hat, and under- 
neath was painted in large characters, ^' General Washington." 

There was, as usual, a crowd of folk about the door, but none 
that Rip recollected. The very character of the people seemed 
changed. There was a busy, bustling, disputatious tone about it, 
instead of the accustomed phlegm and drowsy tranquillity. He 
looked in vain for the sage Nicholas Vedder, with his broad face, 
double chin, and fair long pipe, uttering clouds of tobacco-smoke 
instead of idle speeches ; or Van Bummel, the schoolmaster 
doling forth the contents of an ancient newspaper. In place of 
these, a lean, bilious-looking fellow^, with his pockets full of hand- 
bills, was haranguing vehemently about rights of citizens — elec- 
tions — members of Congress — hberty — Bunker's Hill — heroes 
of seventy-six — and other words, which we.-re a perfect Babylonish 
jargon to the bewildered Van Winkle. 



158 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

The appearance of Rip, with his long grizzled beard, his rusty 
fowling-piece, his uncouth dress, and an army of w^omen and 
children at his heels, soon attracted the attention of the tavern- 
politicians. They crowded round him, eying him from head to 
foot with great curiosity. The orator bustled up to him, and, 
drawing him partly aside, inquired "on which side he voted?" 
Rip stared in vacant stupidity. Another short but busy little 
fellow pulled him by the arm, and, rising on tiptoe, inquired in 
his ear, 'Svhether he w^as Federal or Democrat?" Rip was 
equally at a loss to comprehend the question, when a knowing, 
self-important old gentleman, in a sharp cocked hat, made his 
w^ay through the crowd, putting them to the right and left with 
his elbows as he passed, and planting himself before Van Winkle, 
with one arm akimbo, the other resting on his cane, his keen eyes 
and sharp hat penetrating, as it were, into his very soul, demanded 
in an austere tone, " what brought him to the election with a gun 
on his shoulder and a mob at his heels ; and whether he meant to 
breed a riot in the village?" — "Alas! gentlemen," cried Rip, 
somewiiat dismayed, "' I am a poor, quiet man, a native of the 
place, and a loyal subject of the king, God bless him ! " 

Here a general shout burst from the by-standers. '' A Tory ! a 
Tory ! a spy ! a refugee ! hustle him ! away with him ! " It w^as 
with great difficulty that the self-important man in the cocked hat 
restored order, and, having assumed a tenfold austerity of brow, 
demanded again of the unknown culprit what he came there for, 
and whom he w^as seeking? The poor man humbly assured him 
that he meant no harm, but merely came there in search of some 
of his neighbors, \\\\o used to keep about the tavern. 

"Well, who are they? Name them." 

Rip bethought himself a moment, and inquired, " Where's 
Nicholas Vedder?" 

There w^as a silence for a little while, when an old man replied, 
in a thin, piping voice, " Nicholas Vedder ! why, he is dead and 
gone these eighteen years ! There was a wooden tombstone in 



WASHINGTOX IRVING, 1 59 

the churchyard that used to tell all about him, but that's rotten 
and gone too." 

^•'Where's Brom Butcher?" 

'"' Oh, he went off to the army m the beginning of the war. 
Some say he was killed at the storming of Stony Point ; others say 
he was drowned in a squall at the foot of Antony's Nose. I don't 
know — he never came back again." 

''Where's Van Bummel, the schoolmaster?" 

'^ He went off to the wars too, was a great militia general, and 
is now in Congress." 

Rip's heart died away at hearing of these sad changes in his 
home and friends, and finding himself thus alone in the world. 
Every answer puzzled him, too, by treating of such enormous 
lapses of time, and of matters which he could not understand, — 
war — Congress — Stony Point. He had no courage to ask after 
any more friends, but cried out in despair, " Does nobody here 
know Rip Van Winkle? " 

''Oh, Rip Van Winkle !" exclaimed two or three, "oh, to be 
sure ! that's Rip Van Winkle yonder, leaning against the tree." 

Rip looked, and beheld a precise counterpart of himself as he 
went up the mountain ; apparently as lazy, and certainly as ragged. 
The poor fellow was now completely confounded. He doubted 
his own identity, and whether he was himself or another man. In 
the midst of his bewilderment, the man in the cocked hat 
demanded who he was, and what was his name. 

" God knows I " exclaimed he, at his wit's end ; " I'm not my- 
self — I'm somebody else — that's me yonder — no — that's some- 
body else got into my shoes — I was myself last night, but I fell 
asleep on the mountain ; and they've changed my gun, and every 
thing's changed, and I'm changed, and I can't tell what's my 
name, or who I am." 

The by-standers began now to look at each other, nod, wink 
significantly, and tap their fingers against their foreheads. There 
was a whisper also about securing the gun, and keeping the old 



l6o FIRST STEPS TV EXGTISH CTASSICS. 

fellow from doing mischief, at the very suggestion of which the self- 
important man in the cocked hat retired with some precipitation. 
At this critical moment a fresh, comely woman pressed through 
the throng to get a peep at the gray-bearded man. She had a 
chubby child in her arms, which, frightened at his looks, began to 
cry. '' Hush, Rip/' cried she, ^'' hush, you little fool ; the old man 
won't hurt you."' The name of the child, the air of the mother, 
the tone of her voice, all awakened a train of recollections in his 
mind. *'' What is your name, my good woman? " asked ha. 

••Judith Gardenier." 

'' And your father's name ? "' 

^•' Ah, poor man. Rip Van Winkle was his name ; but it's twent}' 
years since he went away from home with his gun. and never has 
been heard of since, — his dog came home without him; but 
whether he shot himself, or was carried away by the Indians, no- 
body can tell. I was then but a Httle girl." 

Rip had but one question more to ask : but he put it with a 
faltering voice, — 

''\\Tiere's your mother?'' 

" Oh, she too had died but a short time since. She broke a 
bloodvessel in a nt of passion at a Xew- England peddler." 

There was a drop of comfort, at least, in this intelligence. The 
honest man could contain himself no longer. He caught his 
daughter and her child in his arms. *'■ I am your father : '' cried 
he — •'• young Rip Van Winkle once, old Rip Van Winkle now! 
— Does nobody know poor Rip Van Winkle? "' 

All stood amazed until an old woman, tottering out from among 
the crowd, put her hand to her brow, and peering under it in hi- 
face for a moment, exclaimed, •• Sure enough ! it is Rip Van 
Winkle — it is himself ! Welcome home again, old neighbor ! 
Why, where have you been these twenty long years? " 

Rip's story was soon told, for the whole twenty years had been 
to him but as one night. The neighbors stared when they heard 
it ; some were seen to wink at each other, and put their tongues 



V/ASHINGTON IRVING. l6i 

in their cheeks ; and the self-important man in the cocked hat, 
who, when the alarm was over, had returned to the field, screwed 
down the corners of his mouth, and shook his head, — upon which 
there was a general shaking of the head throughout the assemblage. 

It was determined, however, to take the opinion of old Peter 
Vanderdonk, who w^as seen slowly advancing up the road. He 
was a descendant of the historian of that name, who wrote one of 
the earliest accounts of the province. Peter was the most ancient 
inhabitant of the village, and well versed in all the wonderful 
events and traditions of the neighborhood. He recollected Rip at 
once, and corroborated his story in the most satisfactory manner. 
He assured the company that it was a fact, handed down from his 
ancestor the historian, that the Kaatskill Mountains had always 
been haunted by strange beings. That it was affirmed that the 
great Hendrick Hudson, the first discoverer of the river and 
country, kept a kind of vigil there every twenty years with his 
crew of the Half-moon ; being permitted in this way to revisit the 
scenes of his enterprise, and keep a guardian eye upon the river and 
the great city called by his name. That his father had once seen 
them in their old Dutch dresses playing at ninepins in a hollow 
of the mountain ; and that he himself had heard, one summer 
afternoon, the sound of their balls Hke distant peals of thunder. 

To make a long story short, the company broke up and returned 
to the more important concerns of the election. Rip's daughter took 
him home to live v/ith her. She had a snug, well-furnished house, 
and a stout, cheery farmer for a husband, whom Rip recollected 
for one of the urchins that used to climb upon his back. As to Rip's 
son and heir, who was the ditto of himself, seen leaning against 
the tree, he was employed to work on the farm ; but evinced an 
hereditary disposition to attend to any thing else but his business. 

Rip now resumed his old walks and habits. He soon found 
many of his former cronies, though all rather the worse for the 
wear and tear of time, and preferred making friends among the 
rising generation, w4th whom he soon grew into great favor. 



1 62 FIRST STEPS TV ENGTISH CTASSICS. 



CHAPTER IX. 

JOHN G. WHITTIER (1807-1892). 

^^ There is a rush of passion in his verse which sweeps ever}' thing along with it." 
— E. P. Whipple. 

" His poetry bursts from the soul with the fire and energy of an ancient prophet. 
His noble simplicity of character is the delight of all who know him."' — W. Ellery 
Channing. 

John Greenleaf Whittier, the celebrated Quaker 
poet, was born in Haverhill, Mass., in 1807. His parents 
belonged to that middle class of New-England farmers 
who are neither rich nor poor. By incessant toil and self- 
denial a good and honest living was gained, and an honor- 
able name established. Like so many sons of poor farmers, 
Whittier worked on the farm until he was eighteen, after 
which he attended the Haverhill Academy for several 
years. He always had a keen desire to improve himself 
by private study and reading ; and, although his educa- 
tional opportunities were meagre, he trained himself to 
write well and acceptably for the local newspapers. By his 
youthful contributions to the press he gained the friendship 
of William Lloyd Garrison, the well-known anti-slavery 
speaker and editor, and through his influence Whittier 
began to edit a political paper in Boston. Afterwards he 
took charge of a literary weekly at Hartford, Conn., and, 
later, an anti-slavery journal at Philadelphia. He was for 
many years associate-editor of the ''National Era" at 
Washington. 



JOHN G. WHITTIER, 



In 1 83 1 he returned to his native town, and devoted 
himself for several years to farming, and in the mean time 
served several terms in the Massachusetts Legislature as 
a representative from Haverhill. He was one of the origi- 
nal members of the American Anti-slavery Society, and, 
having been chosen its sec- 
retary, took up his residence 
in Philadelphia, and resided 
there until 1840, when he 
returned home. In this same 
year he settled in Ames- 
burv, a flourishins: town a 
few miles from Haverhill, 
and continued to make this 
place his home for the rest 
of his life. During his last 
years Mr. Whittier resided 
most of his time with friends 
at '' Oak Knolls " in Dan- 
vers, Mass. His first vol- 
ume, '^Legends of New Eng- 
land in Prose and Verse," was published in 183 1, soon fol- 
lowed by ^'Voices of Freedom," which gave him his first 
reputation. These volumes were followed, at frequent 
intervals, by many works, mostly poems. ^^ His poems," 
says one of his critics, '^ are among the aesthetic treasures 
of every intelligent family as far as the English language 
is spoken. They are recited in every school, and quoted 
from many a platform and pulpit. Their influences range 
widely, and always for good." 




JOHN G. WHITTIER. 



164 FIRST STEPS IN- EA^GLISH CLASSICS, 

Usually it was not long after he conceived a poetical 
idea before he reduced it to writing. He wrote only when 
the mood seized him, and then he wrote as if fired with 
inspiration, losing all consciousness of time and things, 
going out of himself as it were, and becoming part and 
parcel of his subject. His first draft suffered little sub- 
sequent alteration, and the various editions of his works 
represent little or no time spent in revision. 

In stature Mr. Whittier was like his ancestors, tall, — 
measuring six feet or more, — of slender build, but straight 
as an arrow ; a fine-looking man, with high forehead, a fine 
face, a quiet smile, dark piercing eyes, and hair once black, 
but in age thinned and gray. He dressed in a suit of black, 
cut in Quaker fashion, and his speech was characterized 
to a slight extent by the peculiarities of the people whose 
form of service and creed he preferred to any other. 

Mr. Whittier died in 1892. 



THE FROST SPIRIT. 



He comes — he comes — the Frost Spirit comes ! You may trace 

his footsteps now 
On the naked woods, and the blasted fields, and the brown hill's 

withered brow. 
He has smitten the leaves of the gray old trees where their 

pleasant green came forth, 
And the winds, which follow wherever he goes, have shaken them 

down to earth. 



JOHN G. WHITTIER. 165 

He comes — he comes — the Frost Spirit comes ! from the frozen 
Labrador ; 5 

From the icy bridge of the Northern seas, which the white bear 
wanders o'er, — 

AVhere the fisherman's sail is stiff with ice, and the luckless forms 
below 

In the sunless cold of the atmosphere into marble statues grow ! 

He comes — he comes — the Frost Spirit comes ! on the rushing 

Northern blast, 
And the dark Norwegian pines have bowed as his fearful breath 

went past. ^o 

With an unscorched wing he has hurried on, where the fires of 

Hecla glow 
On the darkly beautiful sky above and the ancient ice below. 

He comes — he comes — the Frost Spirit comes ! and the quiet 

lake shall feel 
The torpid touch of his glazing breath, and ring to the skater's 

heel ; 
And the streams which danced on the broken rocks, or sang to the 



leaning grass. 



Shall bow again to their winter chain, and in mournful silence 
pass. 

He comes — he comes — the Frost Spirit comes ! let us meet him 

as we may, 
And turn with the light of the parlor fire his evil power away ; 
And gather closer the circle round, when that firelight dances 

high. 
And laugh at the shriek of the baffled Fiend as his sounding wing 

goes by ! ^o 



1 66 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 



LINES ON A PORTRAIT. 

How beautiful ! That brow of snow, 

That glossy fall of fair brown tresses, 
The blue eye's tranquil heaven below, 

The hand whereon the fair cheek presses, 
Half-shadowed by a falling curl 5 

Which on the temple's light reposes — 
Each finger like a line of pearl 

Contrasted with the cheek's pure roses ! 
There, as she sits beneath the shade 
By vine and rose-wreathed arbor made, ^o 

Tempering the light which, soft and warm. 
Reveals her full and matchless form, 
In thoughtful quietude, she seems 
Like one of Raphael's pictured dreams. 
Where blend in one all-radiant face ^5 

The woman's warmth — the angel's grace ! 

Well — I can gaze upon it now. 

As on some cloud of autumn's even. 
Bathing its pinions in the glow 

And glory of the sunset heaven — ^o 

So holy and so far away 

That love without desire is cherished, 
Like that which lingers o'er the clay 

Whose warm and breathing life has perished, 
While yet upon its brow is shed 25 

The mournful beauty of the dead ! 
And I can look on her as one 
Too pure for aught save gazing on — 
An idol in some holy place, 
Which man may kneel to, not caress — 3° 



JOHN G. WHITTIER, 1 67 

Or melting tone of music heard 
From viewless lip or miseen bird. 

I know her not. And what is all 

Her beauty to a heart like mine, 
While memory yet hath power to call 35 

Its worship from a stranger shrine ? 
Still midst the weary din of life 

The tones I love, my ear has met ; 
Midst lips of scorn and brows of strife 

The smiles I love are lingering yet ! 4° 

The hearts in sun and shadow known — 
The kind hands lingering in our own — 
The cords of strong affection spun 
By early deeds of kindness done — 
The blessed sympathies which bind 45 

The spirit to its kindred mind, — 
Oh, who would leave these tokens tried 
For all the stranger world beside ? 



l68 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS, 



CHAPTER X. 

OLIVER GOLDSMITH (1728-17T4). 

" No man was more foolish when he had not a pen in his hand, or more wise when 
he had.'' — Dr. Samuel Johnson. 

" He was a friend to virtue, and in his most playful pages never forgets what is 
due to it. A gentleness, delicacy, and purity of feeling distinguish whatever he 
wrote, and bear a correspondence to a generosity of disposition which knew no 
bounds but his last guinea." — Sir Walter Scott. 

Oliver Goldsmith was born in a little village called 
Pallas, or Pallasmore, in the county of Longford, Ireland, 
in 1728. His father was a poor Protestant clergyman, 
whose income during the earlier portion of his life did not 
exceed forty pounds a year. This amiable and worthy man 
has been immortalized in the writings of his illustrious 
son, being the antetype of the ^'man in black" in *'The 
Citizen of the World," the *'Dr. Primrose" of ^^The Vicar 
of Wakefield," and the *H411age preacher" of ''The De- 
serted Village." Oliver was the fifth in a family of eight 
children, so it was impossible for his father to afford to 
give him the advantages of a liberal education ; but his 
uncle Contarine furnished the necessary money to enable 
the future poet to attend in succession the universities of 
Dublin, Edinburgh, and Leyden. The poet's first teacher, 
however, was the schoolmistress of the little village of 
Lissoy, which is supposed to be the ''sweet Auburn" 
of his verses. 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 



169 



Passing in succession through one or two inferior 
schools, Goldsmith entered Trinity College, Dublin, as a 
sizar, in 1745. At Dublin, the young poet's career was 
idle and irregular. The prescribed studies of the college 
he detested, while he evinced a strong proclivity for get- 
ting into debt, scrapes, and difficulties generally. More 
than once his uncle Contarine opened his purse to assist 
his thriftless nephew, who occasionally was forced to write 
and sing street ballads to 
keep himself from starving. 
He left Dublin in 1749, and 
spent a year or two in idle- 
ness, alternating with irreso- 
lute and vain attempts to 
settle down, first as a school- 
master, and then as a lawyer. 
His uncle sent him to Edin- 
burgh to study medicine ; and 
from Edinburgh he proceed-^ 
ed to Leyden, where he re- 
mained only a year, and then 
set off to make, on foot, the 
tour of the European Conti- 
nent, and with no resources 

whatever except a guinea and a flute. In this destitute 
manner Goldsmith proceeded through Flanders, France, 
Switzerland, and Italy. 

After his return to England he made the friendship 
of Dr. Johnson, and published ''The Traveller" (1764), 
which brought him both money and celebrity. Encour- 
aged by this success, and by the kindly interest taken 
in him by such men as Pitt, Burke, and Sir Joshua Rey- 




OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 



I/O i^. J. . Z .^^ /.V ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

Bolds, Goldsmith produced in succession his celebrated 
domestic novel, "The Vicar of Wakefield;" his two 
comedies, ^"^The Good-natured Man" and "She Stoops 
to Conquer;" and ** T t I rstrted Village." 

These were all in : : ring degree successful; 

but nothing could :t t irrtunate author the 

virtues of caution, st : t : self-respect. He 

continued to be borne r : is life remained 

as darkly checkered s _^ t Ht r t rime of life, 

in 1774, of a fever pr t ay £iis iiic^ui v^-^e of liv- 

ing and intense mer: i : :iety. He was : i in the 
graveyard of the Temple Church F ieet Street, London, 
where a flagstone stiU marks his grave; and in Westminster 
Abbey there is a monument to his memory, inscribed witli 
a Latin epitaph from the pen of Dr. Johnson. 

The poetry of Goldsmith is simple in expression, and 
full of quiet tenderness, while his lines are easy and me- 
lodious. In his prose works ho is considered to have 
come very near the perfection of Addison's style. 

Washington Irving thus describes Goldsmith's personal 
appearance: "In stature he was somewhat under the 
middle size, and his body was strongly built. His fore- 
head was low, and more prominent than is usual ; his 
complexion pallid ; his face almost round, and pitted witb 
the small-pox. His first appearance was, therefore, by no 
means captivating : yet the general lineaments of his 
countenance bore the stamp of intellect, and exhibited 
traces of deep thinking; and when he grew easy and 
cheerful in company, he : t into such a display of 
good-humor as soon reir r r r unfavorable impres- 
sion." 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH. ijl 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 

SwEEt Auburn ! loveliest village of the plain ; 

Where health and plenty cheered the laboring swain, 

Where smiling spring its earhest visit paid, 

And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed : 

Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, 5 

Seats of my youth, when every sport could please, 

How often have I loitered o'er thy green, 

Where humble happiness endeared each scene ! 

How often have I paused on every charm, 

The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, lo 

The never-faihng brook, the busy mill. 

The decent church that topt the neighboring hill. 

The hawthorn-bush, with seats beneath the shade. 

For talking age and whispering lovers made ! 

How often have I blest the coming day, ^5 

When toil remitting lent its turn to play. 

And all the village train, from labor free. 

Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree, 

While many a pastime circled in the shade, 

The young contending as the old surveyed ; 20 

And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground, 

And sleights of art and feats of strength went round. 

And still, as each repeated pleasure tired. 

Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired ; 

The dancing pair that simply sought renown 25 

By holding out to tire each other down ; 

The swain mistrustless of his smutted face. 

While secret laughter tittered round the place ; 

The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love. 

The matron's glance that would those looks reprove : 3° 



172 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

These were thy charms, sweet village ! sports like these, 
With sweet succession, taught even toil to please : 
These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed : 
These were thy charms — but all these charms are fled. 

Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn, 35 

Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn ; 
Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, 
And desolation saddens all thy green : 
One only master grasps the whole domain, 
And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain. 4° 

No more thy glassy brook reflects the day, 
But, choked with sedges, works its weedy way ; 
Along thy glades, a solitary guest, 
The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest ; 
Amidst thy desert-walks the lapwing flies, 45 

And tires their echoes with unvaried cries ; 
Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all, 
And the long grass o'ertops the mouldering wall ; 
And trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand, 
Far, far away thy children leave the land. 5° 

111 fares the land, to hastening ills a prey. 
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay. 
Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade ; 
A breath can make them, as a breath has made : 
But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, 55 

When once destroyed, can never be supplied. 

A time there was, ere England's griefs began. 
When every rood of ground maintained its man ; 
For him light labor spread her wholesome store. 
Just gave what life required, but gave no more : ^° 

His best companions, innocence and health ; 
And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. 

But times are altered : trade's unfeeling train 
Usurp the land and dispossess the swain ; 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 1 73 

Along tne iawn, where scattered hamlets rose, ^5 

Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose, 

And every want to opulence allied, 

And every pang that folly pays to pride. 

Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, 

Those calm desires that asked but little room, 7^ 

Those healthful sports that graced the peaceful scene, 

Lived in each look, and brightened all the green ; 

These, far departing, seek a kinder shore, 

And rural mirth and manners are no more. 

Sweet Auburn ! parent of the blissful hour, 75 

Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power. 
Here, as I take my solitary rounds 
Amidst thy tangling walks and ruined grounds. 
And, many a year elapsed, return to view 
Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, So 

Remembrance wakes with all her busy train. 
Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. 

In all my wanderings round this world of care. 
In all my griefs, — and God has given my share, — 
I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown, 85 

Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down ; 
To husband out life's taper at the close. 
And keep the flame from wasting by repose : 
I still had hopes (for pride attends us still) 
Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill, 9^ 

i\round my fire an evening group to draw. 
And tell of all I felt and all I saw ; 
And, as a hare whom hounds and horns pursue 
Pants to the place from whence at first she flaw, 
I still had hopes, my long vexations past, 95 

Here to return — and die at home at last. 

O blest retirement ! friend to life's decline. 
Retreats from care, that never must be mine, 



174 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS, 

How happy he who crowns in shades like these 

A youth of labor with an age of ease ; ^oo 

Who quits a world where strong temptations try, 

And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly ! 

For him no wretches, born to work and weep, 

Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep ; 

No surly porter stands in guilty state 103 

To spurn imploring famine from the gate ; 

But on he moves to meet his latter end. 

Angels around befriending Virtue's friend ; 

Bends to the grave with unperceived decay, 

While resignation gently slopes the way ; "^ 

And, all his prospects brightening to the last. 

His heaven commences ere the world be past. 

Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening's close 
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose. 
There, as I passed with careless steps and slow, ^^5 

The minghng notes came softened from below ; 
The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung. 
The sober herd that lowed to meet their young, 
The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, . 
The playful children just let loose from school, ^^o 

The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering wind, 
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind, — 
These all in sweet confusion sought the shade. 
And filled each pause the nightingale had made. 
But now the sounds of population fail, 125 

No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale. 
No busy steps the grass-grown foot-way tread, 
But all the bloomy flush of life is fled, — 
xA.ll but yon widowed, solitary thing, 

That feebly bends beside the plashy spring : 13° 

She, wretched matron, forced in age for bread 
To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread, 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 1 75 

To pick her wintry fagot from the thorn, 

To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn ; 

She only left of all the harmless train, ^35 

The sad historian of the pensive plain. 

Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, 
And still where many a garden flower grows wild, — 
There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose. 
The village preacher's modest mansion rose. ^o 

A man he was to all the country dear, 
And passing rich with forty pounds a year ; 
Remote from towns he ran his godly race. 
Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place ; 
Unpractised he to fawn, or seek for power, ^45 

By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour ; 
Far other aims his heart had learned to prize, 
IMore skilled to raise the wretched than to rise. 
His house was known to all the vagrant train ; 
He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain : ^5° 

The long-remembered beggar was his guest. 
Whose beard descending swept his aged breast ; 
The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud. 
Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed ; 
The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, i55 

Sat by his fire, and talked the night away. 
Wept o'er his wounds or tales of sorrow done, 
Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won. 
Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, 
And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; ^^ 

Careless their merits or their faults to scan, 
His pity gave ere charity began. 

Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, 
And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side ; 
But in his duty prompt at every call, 1^5 

He watched and wept, he prayed and felt, for all ; 



176 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS, 

And, as a bird each fond endearment tries 

To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, 

He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, 

Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. 170 

Beside the bed where parting life was laid, 
And sorrow, guilt, and pain by turns dismayed, 
The reverend champion stood. At his control 
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ; 
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, i75 

And his last faltering accents whispered praise. 

At church, with meek and unaffected grace. 
His looks adorned the venerable place ; 
Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway. 
And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray. i^o 

The service past, around the pious man. 
With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran ; 
Even children followed with endearing wile, 
x^nd plucked his gown to share the good man's smile. 
His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed ; 185 

Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed : 
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given. 
But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. 
As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, 
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, ^9° 

Though round its breast the rolHng clouds are spread. 
Eternal sunshine settles on its head. 

Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, 
With blossomed furze unprofitably gay. 

There in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule, '95 

The village master taught his little school. 
A man severe he was, and stern to view ; 
I knew him well, and every truant knew : 
Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace 
The day's disasters in his morning face ; 200 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 1 77 

Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee 

At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ; 

Full well the busy whisper circHng round 

Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned. 

Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught, 205 

The love he bore to learning was in fault. 

The village all declared how much he knew : 

'Twas certain he could write, and cipher too ; 

Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, 

And even the story ran that he could gauge : 210 

In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill. 

For, even though vanquished, he could argue still ; 

While words of learned length and thundering sound 

Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around ; 

And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew, 215 

That one small head could carry all he knew. 

But past is all his fame. The very spot 

Where many a time he triumphed is forgot. 

Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, 
Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye, 220 

Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspired. 
Where gray-beard mirth and smiling toil retired. 
Where village statesmen talked with looks profound, 
And news much older than their ale went round. 
Imagination fondly stoops to trace 225 

The parlor splendors of that festive place : 
The white-washed wall, the nicely sanded floor, 
The varnished clock that clicked behind the door ; 
The chest contrived a double debt to pay, 
A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day ; 230 

The pictures placed for ornament and use. 
The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose ; 
The hearth, except when winter chilled the day. 
With aspen boughs and flowers and fennel gay ; 



178 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show, 235 

Ranged o'er the chimney, glistened in a row. 

Vain transitory splendors ! could not all 
Reprieve the tottering mansion from its fall? 
Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart 
An hour's importance to the poor man's heart. 240 

Thither no more the peasant shall repair 
To sweet oblivion of his daily care ; 
No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, 
No more the woodman's ballad, shall prevail ; 
No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear, 245 

Relax his ponderous strength, and lean to hear ; 
The host himself no longer shall be found 
Careful to see the mantling bliss go round ; 
Nor the coy maid, half willing to be prest, 
Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. 250 

Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, 
These simple blessings of the lowly train ; 
To me more dear, congenial to my heart. 
One native charm, than all the gloss of art ; 
Spontaneous joys, where Nature has its play, 255 

The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway ; 
Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, 
Unenvied, unmolested, unconfined. 
But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade. 
With all the freaks of wanton wealth arrayed — 260 

In these, ere trifiers half their wish obtain, 
The toiling pleasure sickens into pain ; 
And e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy, 
The heart distrusting asks if this be joy. 

Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen who survey 265 

The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 
'Tis yours to judge how wide the limits stand 
Between a splendid and a happy land. 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 1 79 

Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore, 

And shouting Folly hails them from her shore ; 270 

Hoards e'en beyond the miser's wish abound, 

And rich men flock from all the world around. 

Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name 

That leaves our useful products still the same. 

Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride 275 

Takes up a space that many poor supplied ; 

Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds, 

Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds : 

The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth 

Has robbed the neighboring fields of half their growth ; 280 

His seat, where solitary sports are seen. 

Indignant spurns the cottage from the green : 

Around the world each needful product flies. 

For all the luxuries the world supplies ; 

While thus the land adorned for pleasure all 285 

In barren splendor feebly waits the fall. 

As some fair female unadorned and plain, 
Secure to please while youth confirms her reign, 
Slights every borrowed charm that dress supplies. 
Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes ; 290 

But when those charms are past, for charms are frail, 
When time advances, and when lovers fail. 
She then shines forth, solicitous to bless. 
In all the glaring impotence of dress. 

Thus fares the land by luxury betrayed : • 295 

In nature's simplest charms at first arrayed, 
But verging to decline, its splendors rise ; 
Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise : 
While, scourged by famine from the smiling land, 
The mournful peasant leads his humble band, 300 

And while he sinks, without one arm to save. 
The country blooms — a garden and a grave. 



l8o FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

Where, then, ah ! where, shall poverty reside, 
To 'scape the pressure of contiguous pride ? 
If to some common's fenceless limits strayed 3<^5 

He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade. 
Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide, 
And even the bare-worn common is denied. 

If to the city sped — what waits him there ? 
To see profusion that he must not share ; 3^° 

To see ten thousand baneful arts combined 
To pamper luxury, and thin mankind ; 
To see those joys the sons of pleasure know 
Extorted from his fellow- creature's woe. 

Here while the courtier glitters in brocade, 3^5 

There the pale artist plies the sickly trade ; 
Here while the proud their long-drawn pomps display^ 
There the black gibbet glooms beside the way. 
The dome where Pleasure holds her midnight reign 
Here, richly decked, admits the gorgeous train : 320 

Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square, 
The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. 
Sure, scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy I 
Sure these denote one universal joy ! 

Are these thy serious thoughts ? — Ah, turn thine eyes 3^5 
Where the poor houseless shivering female lies. 
She once, perhaps, in village plenty blessed, 
Has wept at tales of innocence distressed ; 
• Her modest looks the cottage might adorn. 
Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn : 3Z^ 

Now lost to all, her friends, her virtue fled. 
Near her betrayer's door she lays her head, 
And pinched with cold, and shrinking from the shower, 
With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour, 
When idly first, ambitious of the town, 335 

She left her wheel and robes of country brown. 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH, l8l 

Do thine, sweet Auburn, — thine, the lovehest train, — 
Do thy fair tribes participate her pain? 
Even now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led, 
At proud men's doors they ask a little bread ! 34o 

Ah, no ! To distant climes, a dreary scene, 
Where half the convex world intrudes between. 
Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go, 
Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe. 
Far different there from all that charmed before 345 

The various terrors of that horrid shore ; 
Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray, 
And fiercely shed intolerable day ; 
Those matted woods, w^here birds forget to sing, 
But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling ; 35° 

Those poisonous fields with rank luxuriance crowned, 
Where the dark scorpion gathers death around ; 
Where at each step the stranger fears to wake 
The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake ; 
W^here crouching tigers wait their hapless prey, 355 

And savage men more murderous still than they ; 
While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies, 
Mingling the ravaged landscape with the skies. 
Far different these from every former scene. 
The cooling brook, the grassy vested green, 3^0 

The breezy covert of the warbling grove, 
That only sheltered thefts of harmless love. 

Good Heaven ! what sorrows gloomed that parting day. 
That called them from their native walks away ; 
When the poor exiles, every pleasure past, 3^5 

Hung round the bowers, and fondly looked their last. 
And took a long farewell, and wished in vain 
For seats like these beyond the western main. 
And shuddering still to face the distant deep, 
Returned and wept, and still returned to weep. Zl^ 



1 82 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

The good old sire the first prepared to go 

To new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe ; 

But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, 

He only wished for worlds beyond the grave. 

His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, 375 

The fond companion of his helpless years, 

Silent went next, neglectful of her charms, 

And left a lover's for a father's arms. 

With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes, 

And blessed the cot where every pleasure rose, 3^° 

And kissed her thoughtless babes with many a tear. 

And clasped them close, in sorrow doubly dear. 

Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief 

In all the silent manliness of grief. 

O luxury ! thou cursed by Heaven's decree, 3^5 

How ill exchanged are things like these for thee ! 
How do thy potions, with insidious joy, 
Diffuse their pleasure only to destroy ! 
Kingdoms by thee, to sickly greatness grown, 
Boast of a florid vigor not their own. 39° 

At every draught more large and large they grow, 
A bloated mass of rank unwieldy woe ; 
Till sapped their strength, and every part unsound, 
Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round. 

Even now the devastation is begun, 395 

And half the business of destruction done ; 
Even now, methinks, as pondering here I stand, 
I see the rural virtues leave the land. 
Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail. 
That idly waiting flaps with every gale, 4°° 

Downward they move, a melancholy band. 
Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand. 
Contented toil, and hospitable care. 
And kind connubial tenderness, are there ; 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH, 1 83 

And piety with wishes placed above, 405 

And steady loyalty, and faithful love. 

And thou, sweet Poetry, thou lovehest maid, 

Still first to fly where sensual joys invade ; 

Unfit in these degenerate times of shame 

To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame ; 410 

Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried, 

My shame in crowds, my solitary pride ; 

Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe, 

That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so ; 

Thou guide by which the nobler arts excel, 4^5 

Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well ! 

Farewell, and O ! where'er thy voice be tried, 

On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side. 

Whether where equinoctial fervors glow, 

Or winter wraps the polar world in snow, 420 

Still let thy voice, prevailing over time, 

Redress the rigors of the inclement clime ; 

Aid slighted truth with thy persuasive strain; 

Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain \ 

Teach him that states of native strength possessed, 425 

Though very poor, may still be very blessed ; 

That Trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay. 

As ocean sweeps the labored mole away ; 

While self-dependent power can time defy, 

As rocks resist the billows and the sky. 430 



1 84 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

THE TRAVELLER; 

OR, A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY. 

Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow. 

Or by the lazy Scheld or wandering Po ; 

Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor 

Against the houseless stranger shuts the door ; 

Or where Campania's plain forsaken lies, 5 

A weary waste expanding to the skies ; 

Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see. 

My heart untravell'd fondly turns to thee ; 

Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain. 

And drags at each. remove a lengthening chain. to 

Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend, 
And round his dwelling guardian saints attend 
Blest be that spot where cheerful guests retire 
To pause from toil, and trim their ev'ning fire : 
Blest that abode where want and pain repair, 15 

And every stranger finds a ready chair : 
Blest be those feasts, with simple plenty crown'd, 
Where all the ruddy family around 
Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail, 
Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale ; 20 

Or press the bashful stranger to his food. 
And learn the luxury of doing good. 

But me, not destin'd such delights to share, 
My prime of life in wand'ring spent and care; 
Impell'd, with steps unceasing, to pursue 25 

Some fleeting good that mocks me with the view ; 
That, like the circle bounding earth and skies, 
Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies ; 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 1 85 

My fortune leads to traverse realms alone, 

And find no spot of all the world my own. 30 

Even now, where Alpine solitudes ascend, 
I sit me down a pensive hour to spend ; 
And plac'd on high above the storm's career. 
Look downward where an hundred realms appear ; 
Lakes, forests, cities, plains extending wide, 35 

The pomp of kings, the shepherd's humbler pride. 

When thus Creation's charms around combine. 
Amidst the store should thankless pride repine ? 
Say, should the philosophic mind disdain 
That good which makes each humbler bosom vain t 40 
Let school-taught pride dissemble all it can. 
These little things are great to little man ; 
And wiser he, whose sympathetic mind 
Exults in all the good of all mankind. 
Ye glitt'ring towns, with wealth and splendor crown'd ; 45 
Ye fields, where summer spreads profusion round ; 
Ye lakes, whose vessels catch the busy gale ; 
Ye bending swains, that dress the flow'ry vale ; 
For me your tributary stores combine : 
Creation's heir, the world, the world is mine. 50 

As some lone miser, visiting his store. 
Bends at his treasure, counts, recounts it o'er; 
Hoards after hoards his rising raptures fill. 
Yet still he sighs, for hoards are wanting still : 
Thus to my breast alternate passions rise, 55 

Pleas'd with each good that Heaven to man supplies : 
Yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall, 
To see the hoard of human bliss so small ; 
And oft I wish amidst the scene to find 
Some spot to real happiness consign'd, 60 

Where my worn soul, each wand'ring hope at rest. 
May gather bliss to see my fellows blest. 



1 86 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

But where to find that happiest spot below 
Who can direct, when all pretend to know? 
The shudd'ring tenant of the frigid zone 65 

Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own ; 
Extols the treasures of his stormy seas, 
And his long nights of revelry and ease : 
The naked negro, panting at the line, 
Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine, 70 

Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave, 
And thanks his gods for all the good they gave. 
Such is the patriot's boast where'er we roam; 
His first, best country ever is at home. 
And yet, perhaps, if countries we compare, 75 

And estimate the blessings which they share, 
Tho' patriots flatter, still shall wisdom find 
An equal portion dealt to all mankind ; 
As different good, by Art or Nature given, 
To different nations makes their blessings even. 80 

Nature, a mother kind alike to all, 
Still grants her bliss at Labor's earnest call : 
With food as well the peasant is supplied 
On Idra's cliffs as Arno's shelvy side ; 
And though the rocky crested summits frown, 85 

These rocks by custom turn to beds of down. 
From Art more various are the blessings sent; 
Wealth, commerce, honor, liberty, content. 
Yet these each other's power so strong contest, 
That either seems destructive of the rest. 90 

Where wealth and freedom reign, contentment fails 
And honor sinks where commerce long prevails. 
Hence every state, to one lov'd blessing prone, 
Conforms and models life to that alone. 
Each to the favorite h?vppiness attends, 95 

And spurns the plan that aims at other ends : 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 1 87 

'Till carried to excess in each domain, 
This fav'rite good begets peculiar pain. 

But let us try these truths with closer eyes, 
And trace them through the prospect as it lies: 100 

Here for a while my proper cares resigned, 
Here let me sit in sorrow for mankind ; 
Like yon neglected shrub at random cast, 
That shades the steep, and sighs at every blast. 

Far to the right, where Apennine ascends, 105 

Bright as the summer, Italy extends : 
Its uplands sloping deck the mountain's side, 
Woods over woods in gay theatric pride ; 
While oft some temple's mouldVing tops between 
With venerable grandeur mark the scene. no 

Could Nature's bounty satisfy the breast, 
The sons of Italy were surely blest. 
Whatever fruits in different climes were found. 
That proudly rise, or humbly court the ground ; 
Whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear, 115 

Whose bright succession decks the varied year ; 
Whatever sweets salute the northern sky 
With vernal lives, that blossom but to die ; 
These, here disporting, own the kindred soil. 
Nor ask luxuriance from the planter's toil ; 120 

While sea-born gales their gelid wings expand 
To winnow fragrance round the smiling land. 

But small the bliss that sense alone bestows, 
And sensual bliss is all the nation knows. 
In florid beauty groves and fields appear ; 125 

Man seems the only growth that dwindles here. 
Contrasted faults through all his manners reign : 
Though poor, luxurious ; though submissive, vain ; 
Though grave, yet trifling ; zealous, yet untrue ; 
And ev'n in penance planning sins anew. 130 



iSS FIRST STEPS IX EXGLISH CLASSICS, 

Ail evils here contaminate the mind 

That opulence departed leaves behind : 

For wea^rh was rheirs. nor far remov'd the date 
When commerce proudly liourisa'd rarjugh rhe srare : 
At her command the palace ^ra a: :: ise, 135 

Again the long-fallen coaann s _a-: : :e skies. 
The canvas glow'd, beyc'nd e'en na:are vrarm. 
The pregnant quarry rccm'd v,a:a aaarai form : 
TiiL more unsteady than the s:aa:r:a gale. 
Commerce oi\ other shores disphiy'd her sail; i-- 

While nought remain 'd ':: ad tha: riches gave. 
But towns unmanndd aad iiads ua:n>:a;t a slave: 
And late the nati a fruad ua:a fruiricss skill 
Its former strengtii was bu: cdetiajric ill. 

Yet stiil the Irss cf weaith is here supplied 145 

By arts, the saieaaid wreLKS ca f raaner pride : 
From these the feeble heart and long-fall'n mind 
An eas\' cc^mpeusation seem to hnd. 
Here ma\- be seem in bajodless pomp arrav'd. 
The paste-board rriuaipa aad rae cavalcade. 150 

Processions form'd fcr piety and Icve. 
A mistress or a saint in every grove. 
By spcaas ib^e tue^e are all their cares beguil'd ; 
The sports of children satisfy" riiT 

Each nobler aim. repre-: by 1 : a^ c :ntrol. 153 

Now sinks at last, or leeaar maa> the soul ; 
\\\\i\t low delights, succeeding fast behind. 
In happier meanness occupy the mind: 
As in those domes where Caesars once bore sway, 
Defac'd by time and totterin^ ia decay. 16: 

There in the ruin, heedless of the dead, 
The shelter-seeking pecsaa: "aaiids his shed: 
And, wondering man c:uic: want rue larger pile, 
Exults, and owns his cotta2:e with a smile. 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH, 1 89 

My soul, turn from them, turn we to survey, 165 

Where rougher cUmes a nobler race display ; 
Where the bleak Swiss their stormy mansions tread, 
And force a churlish soil for scanty bread. 
No product here the barren fields afford. 
But man and steel, the soldier and his sword : 170 

No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array. 
But winter ling'ring chills the lap of May : 
No Zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast. 
But meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest. 

Yet, still, even here content can spread a charm, 175 
Redress the clime, and all its rage disarm. 
Though poor the peasant's hut, his feasts tho' small, 
He sees his little lot the lot of all ; 
Sees no contiguous palace rear its head 
To shame the meanness of his humble shed ; 180 

No costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal 
To make him loath his vegetable meal ; 
But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil, 
Each wish contracting fits him to the soil. 
Cheerful at morn he wakes from short repose, 185 

Breathes the keen air, and carols as he goes ; 
With patient angle trolls the finny deep ; 
Or drives his venturous plow-share to the steep ; 
Or seeks the den where snow-tracks mark the way, 
And drags the struggling savage into day. 190 

At night returning, every labor sped, 
He sits him down the monarch of a shed ; 
Smiles by his cheerful fire, and round surveys 
His children's looks, that brighten at the blaze ; 
While his lov'd partner, boastful of her hoard, 195 

Displays her cleanly platter on the board : 
And haply too some pilgrim, thither led. 
With many a tale repays the nightly bed. 



igo FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

Thus every good his native wilds impart 
Imprints the patriot passion on his heart ; 200 

And e'en those ills that round his mansion rise 
Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies. 
Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms, 
And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms ; 
And as a child, when scaring sounds molest, 205 

Clings close and closer to the mother's breast, 
So the loud torrent and the whirlwind's roar 
But bind him to his native mountains more. 

Such are the charms to barren states assign'd ; 
Their w^ants but few, their wishes all confin'd. 210 

Yet let them only share the praises due : 
If few their wants, their pleasures are but few ; 
For every w^ant that stimulates the breast 
Becomes a source of pleasure wdien redrest ; 
. Whence from such lands each pleasing science flies 215 
That first excites desire, and then supplies ; 
Unknown to them, with sensual pleasures cloy, 
To fill the languid pause with finer joy ; 
Unknown those powers that raise the soul to flame. 
Catch every nerve, and vibrate through the frame. 220 
Their level life is but a smould'ring fire, 
Unquench'd by vrant, unfann'd by strong desire ; 
Unfit for raptures, or, if raptures cheer 
On some high festival of once a year. 
In wild excess the vulgar breast takes fire, 225 

Till, buried in debauch, the bliss expire. 

But not their joys alone thus coarsely flow : 
Their morals, like their pleasures, are but low; 
For, as refinement stops, from sire to son 
Unalter'd, unimprov'd, the manners run, 230 

And love's and friendship's finely-pointed dart 
Fall blunted from each indurated heart. 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 191 

Some sterner virtues o'er the mountain's breast 

May sit, like falcons, cow'ring on the nest ; 

But all the gentler morals, such as play 235 

Thro' life's more cultur'd walks, and charm the way, 

These, far dispers'd, on timorous pinions fly. 

To sport and flutter in a kinder sky. 

To kinder skies, where gentler manners reign, 
I turn ; and France displays her bright domain. 240 

Gay, sprightly land of mirth and social ease, 
Pleas'd with thyself, whom all the world can please, 
How often have I led thy sportive choir, 
With tuneless pipe, beside the murmuring Loire ? 
Where shading elms along the margin grew, 245 

And freshened from the wave the Zephyr flew ; 
And haply, though my harsh touch, faltering still. 
But mocked all tune, and marr'd the dancer's skill. 
Yet would the village praise my wonderous power. 
And dance, forgetful of the noon-tide hour. 250 

Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days 
Have led their children through the mirthful maze, 
And the gay grandsire, skilFd in gestic lore, 
Has frisk'd beneath the burthen of threescore. 

So blest a life these thoughtless realms display; 255 
Thus idly busy rolls their world away ; 
Theirs are those arts that mind to mind endear, 
For honor forms the social temper here. 
Honor, that praise which real merit gains. 
Or even imaginary worth obtains, 260 

Here passes current : paid from hand to hand, 
It shifts in splendid trafiic round the land ; 
From courts to camps, to cottages, it strays, 
And all are taught an avarice of praise. 
They please, are pleas'd ; they give to get esteem ; 265 
Till; seeming blest, they grow to what they seem. 



192 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

But while this softer art their bliss supplies, 
It gives their follies also room to rise ; 
For praise too dearly lov'd, or warmly sought, 
Enfeebles all internal strength of thought, 270 

And the weak soul, within itself unblest, 
Leans for all pleasure on another's breast. 
Hence ostentation here, with tawdry art, 
Pants for the vulgar praise which fools impart ; 
Here vanity assumes her pert grimace, 275 

And trims her robes of frieze with copper lace ; 
Here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer, 
To boast one splendid banquet once a year; 
The mind still turns where shifting fashion draws, 
Nor weighs the solid worth of self-applause. 280 

To men of other minds my fancy flies, 
Embosom'd in the deep where Holland lies. 
Methinks her patient sons before me stand. 
Where the broad ocean leans against the land, 
And, sedulous to stop the coming tide, 285 

Lift the tall rampire's artificial pride. 
Onward methinks, and diligently slow. 
The firm connected bulwark seems to grow ; 
Spreads its long arms amidst the watery roar, 
Scoops out an empire, and usurps the shore. 290 

While the pent ocean, rising o'er the pile, 
Sees an amphibious world beneath him smile : 
The slow canal, the yellow blossom 'd vale, 
The willow tufted bank, the gliding sail, 
The crowded mart, the cultivated plain, — 295 

A new creation rescu'd from his reign. 

Thus while around the wave-subjected soil 
Impels the native to repeated toil. 
Industrious habits in each bosom reign, 
And industry begets a love of gain. 50^ 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 1 93 

Hence all the good from opulence that springs, 

With all those ills superfluous treasure brings, 

Are here displayed. Their much-lov"d wealth imparts 

Convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts : 

But view them closer, craft and fraud appear ; 305 

E'en liberty itself is barter'd here. 

At gold's superior charms all freedom flies ; 

The needy sell it, and the rich man buys ; 

A land of tyrants, and a den of slaves, 

Here wretches seek dishonorable graves, 310 

And calmly bent, to servitude conform, 

Dull as their lakes that slumber in the storm. 

Heavens ! how unlike their Belgic sires of old. 
Rough, poor, content, ungovernably bold ; 
War in each breast, and. freedom on each brow: 315 

How much unlike the sons of Britain now 1 

Fir'd at the sound, my genius spreads her wing. 
And flies Where Britain courts the western spring ; 
Where lawns extend that scorn Arcadian pride. 
And brighter streams than fam'd Hydaspis glide. 320 
There all around the gentlest breezes stray ; 
There gentle music melts on every spray ; 
Creation's mildest charms are there combin'd. 
Extremes are only in the master's mind ! 
Stern o'er each bosom Reason holds her state, 325 

With daring aims irregularly great ; 
Pride in their port, defiance in their eye, 
I see the lords of human kind pass by ; 
Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band. 
By forms unfashion'd, fresh from Nature's hand, 330 

Fierce in their native hardiness of soul, 
True to imagin'd right, above control. 
While even the peasant boasts these rights to scan, 
And learns to venerate himself as man. 



194 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

Thine, Freedom, thine the blessings pictured here ; 335 
Thine are those charms that dazzle and endear : 
Too blest indeed, were such without alloy : 
But f oster'd even by Freedom ills annoy : 
That independence Britons prize too high 
Keeps man from man, and breaks the social tie ; 340 

The self-dependent lordlings stand alone. 
All claims that bind and sweeten life unknown. 
Here, by the bonds of nature feebly held, 
jMinds combat minds, repelling and repelFd; 
Ferments arise, imprison'd factions roar, 345 

Represt ambition struggles round her shore, 
Till, over-wrought, the general system feels 
Its motions stop, or frenzy fire the wheels. 

Nor this the worst. As nature's ties decay, 
As duty, love, and honor fail to sway, 350 

Fictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth and law, 
Still gather strength, and force unwilling awe. 
Hence all obedience bows to these alone. 
And talent sinks, and merit weeps unknown : 
Till time may come, when, stript of all her charms, 355 
The land of scholars and the nurse of arms. 
Where noble stems transmit the patriot flame. 
Where kings have toil'd and poets wrote for fame. 
One sink of level avarice shall lie, 
And scholars, soldiers, kings, unhonor'd die. 360 

Yet think not, thus when Freedom's ills I state, 
I mean to flatter kings, or court the great : 
Ye powers of truth that bid my soul aspire. 
Far from, my bosom drive the low desire. 
And thou, fair Freedom, taught alike to feel 365 

The rabble's rage and tyrant's angry steel ; 
Thou transitorv flower, alike undone 
By proud contempt or favor's fostering sun, 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH, 19S 

Still may thy blooms the changeful clime endure ! 

I only would repress them to secure : z-jo 

For just experience tells, in every soil, 

That those who think must govern those that toil ; 

And all that Freedom's highest aims can reach 

Is but to lay proportion'd loads on each. 

Hence, should one order disproportioned grow, 375 

Its double weight must ruin all below. 

O then how blind to all that truth requires, 
Who think it freedom when a part aspires ! 
Calm is my soul, nor apt to rise in arms, 
Except when fast approaching danger warms ; . 380 

But when contending chiefs blockade the throne, 
Contracting regal power to stretch their own, 
When I behold a factious band agree 
To call it freedom when themselves are free, 
Each wanton judge new penal statutes draw, 385 

Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law, 
The wealth of climes where savage nations roam 
Pillag'd from slaves to purchase slaves at home, 
Fear, pity, justice, indignation start. 

Tear off reserve, and bare my swelling heart ; 390 

Till half a patriot, half a coward grown, 
I fly from petty tyrants to the throne. 

Yes, brother, curse with me that baleful hour 
When first ambition struck at regal power ; 
And thus polluting honor in its source, 395 

Gave wealth to sway the mind with double force. 
Have we not seen, round Britain's peopled shore, 
Her useful sons exchanged for useless ore, 
Seen all her triumphs but destruction haste. 
Like flaring tapers brightening as they waste ? 400 

Seen opulence, her grandeur to maintain, 
Lead stern depopulation in her train, 



196 FIRST STEPS TV ENGTISH CLASSICS, 

And over fields where scattered hamlets rose 

In barren solitary pomp repose ? 

Have we not seen at pleasure's lordly call 405 

The smiling long-frequented village fall ? 

Beheld the duteous son, the sire decay'd, 

The modest matron, and the blushing maid, 

Forc'd from their homes, a melancholy train. 

To traverse climes beyond the western main ; 410 

Where wild Oswego spreads her swamps around. 

And Niagara stuns with thund'ring sound ? 

Even now, perhaps, as there some pilgrim strays 
. Through tangled forests and through dangerous ways, 
Where beasts with man divided empire claim, 415 

And the brown Indian marks with murderous aim ; 
There, while above the giddy tempest flies, 
And all around distressful veils arise, 
The pensive exile, bending with his woe, 
To stop too fearful, and too faint to go, 420 

Casts a long look where England's glories shine, 
And bids his bosom sympathize with mine. 
Vain, very vain, my weary search to find 
That bliss which only centres in the mind : 
Why have I stray' d from pleasure and repose, 425 

To seek a good each government bestows ? 
In every government, though terrors reign, 
Though tyrant kings or tyrant laws restrain, 
How small, of all that human hearts endure, 
That part which laws or kings can cause or cure ; 430 
Still to ourselves in every place consign'd, 
Our own felicity we make or find: 
With secret course, which no loud storms annoy. 
Glides the smooth current of domestic joy. 
The lifted axe, the agonizing wheel, 435 

Luke's iron crown, and Damiens' bed of steel, 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 1 97 

To men remote from power but rarely known, 
Leave reason, faith, and conscience all our own. 



EDMUND BURKE. 

Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such 
We scarcely can praise it or blame it too much ; 
Who, born for the universe, n arrow' d his mind, 
And to party gave up what was meant for m.ankind ; 
Though fraught with all learning, yet straining his throat 
To persuade Tommy Townshend to lend him a vote ; 
Who, too deep for his hearers, still v;ent on refining. 
And thought of convincing, while they thought of dining ; 
Though equal to all things, for all things unfit ; 
Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit, 
For a patriot too cool, for a drudge disobedient, 
And too fond, of the right to pursue the expedient. 
In short 'twas his fate, unemploy'd, or in place, sir, 
To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor. 

From Retaliation. 



lo8 FIR^'T SI EPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 



CHAPTER XL 

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT (1794-1878). 

" Bryant's writings transport us into tlie depths of the solemn primeval forest, 
to the shores of the lonely lake, the banks of the wild, nameless stream, or the brow 
of the rocky upland, rising like a promontory from amidst a wide ocean of foliage : 
while they shed around us the glories of a climate fierce in its extremes, but splendid 
in all its vicissitudes." — Irving. 

William Cullen Bryant, who may be said to share 
with Longfellow and Whittier the first place among the 
great poets of America, was born at Cummington, Mass., 
in 1794. He was carefully educated by his father, who 
seems to have been a man of more than ordinary attain- 
ments. While even a boy, Bryant was remarkable for his 
poetical abilities. At the age of ten he made translations 
from the Latin authors, Avhich were published ; and at 
thirteen he WTote ''The Embargo," along poem of some 
merit. He entered Williams College, remained there only 
two years, and then began to study law. 

After being admitted to the bar, he continued to prac- 
tise law for several years in Great Barrington, Mass., but 
removed to New-York City in 1825, and devoted himself 
solely to literary work. The publication of *' Thanatopsis," 
at the age of nineteen, gave him an enviable rank as a 
poet. This remarkable poem has continued to be a favor- 
ite ever since it was first published. Bryant became con- 
nected with the New-York ''Evening Post" in 1826, and 



WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 



191 



continued for over fifty years to be associated with this 
paper as part owner and editorial contributor. During the 
winter he Uved in New- York City, but in summer he had 
a beautiful home at Roslyn, Long Island. 

While Bryant attained his reputation principally on 
account of his poetry, he ranks high as a writer of prose. 
He led a remarkably busy life ; for in addition to writ- 
ing most carefully elaborated 
poems year after year, books 
of travels, translations, ora- 
tions, and addresses, he was 
an industrious editorial writer 
for the ''Evening Post," a 
part ownership in which paper 
made him one of the richest 
authors of modern times. 

Bryant was a most care- 
ful and pains - taking writer. 
Aside from his uncollected 
editorials, and his translations 
of Homer, the whole body of 
his writings is not large. One 
volume of moderate size contains all his poems. Bryant 
was always a stern critic of his own work, and did not 
hesitate to revise his manuscript over and over again. 
For many years the venerable poet was one of the most 
familiar figures in the streets of New York. His hair 
and beard were snov\y white, and his overhanging eye- 
brows and deep-set eyes gave him an air of intense 
thought. Bryant always lived in the most methodical 
and exact manner. He took long walks every day, and 
never omitted his morning bath, and his exercise before 




WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 



200 FIRST STEPS TV EXGUSH CLASSICS. 

breakfast with Indian clubs. His food was of the simplest 
character, mostly fruit and vegetables, rarely using even 
tea and coffee. 



TO A WATERFOWL. 



WmxHER, midst falling dew, 
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, 
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue 

Thy solitary way ? 

Vainly the fowler's eye 5 

Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, 
As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, 

Thy figure floats along. 

Seek'st thou the plashy brink 
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, Jo 

Or where the rocking billows rise and sink 
On the chafed ocean side ? 

There is a Power whose care 
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast^ — 
The desert and illimitable air, — 15 

Lone wandering, but not lost. 

All day thy wings have fanned, 
At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere ; 
Yet stoop not, wear}% to the welcome land, 

Though the dark night is near. ^g 

And soon that toil shall end ; 
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, 
And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend 

Soon o'er thy sheltered nest. 



WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 20l 

Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven 25 

Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet on my heart 
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, 

And shall not soon depart. 

He who, from zone to zone, 
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, 3^ 

In the long way that I must tread alont 

Will lead my steps aright. 



THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS. 

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year. 

Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear. 

Heaped in the hollows of the grove the withered leaves lie dead ; 

They rustle to the edd3dng gust and to the rabbit's tread. 

The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, 5 

And from the wood-top caUs the crow through all the gloomy day. 

Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprung 

and stood 
In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood ? 
Alas ! they all are in their graves : the gentle race of flowers 
Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. ^^ 
The rain is falling where they lie ; but the cold November rain 
Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again. 

The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago. 
And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer's glow ; 
But on the hiU the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood, '5 

And the yellow sunflower by the brook in autumn beauty stood, 
Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on 

men. 
And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland,, glade, 

and glen. 



202 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

And now, when comes the cahii, mild day, as still such days will 

come, 
To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home ; ^o 
When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees 

are still, 
And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, 
The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, 
And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. 

And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died, — 25 
The fair, meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side. 
In the cold, moist earth we laid her, when the forests cast the leaf, 
x\nd we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief; 
Yet not unmeet it was that one like that young friend of ours. 
So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers. 3° 



THANATOPSIS. 

To him who in the love of Nature holds 
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 
A various language : for his gayer hours 
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 
And eloquence of beauty ; and she glides 
Into his darker musings with a mild 
And gentle sympathy that steals away 
Their sharpness ere he is aware. When thoughts 
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight 
Over thy spirit, and sad images 
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, 
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, 
Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart, 
Go forth, unto the open sky, and list 
To Nature's teachings, while from all around — 
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air — 



WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 203 

Comes a still voice : Yet a few days, and thee 

The all-beholding sun shall see no more 

In all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground, 

Where thy pale form was laid with many tears, 20 

Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist 

Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim 

Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again, 

And, lost each human trace, surrendering up 

Thine individual being, shalt thou go ^5 

To mix forever with the elements ; 

To be a brother to the insensible rock. 

And to the sluggish clod which the rude swain 

Turns with his share and treads upon. The oak 

Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. 3° 

Yet not to thy eternal resting-place 
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish 
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down 
With patriarchs of the infant world, — with kings. 
The powerful of the earth, — the wise, the good, 35 

Fair forms and hoary seers of ages past. 
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills. 
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun ; the vales, 
Stretching in pensive quietness between ; 
The venerable woods ; rivers that move 4° 

In majesty, and the complaining brooks. 
That make the meadows green ; and, poured round all. 
Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — 
Are but the solemn decorations all 

Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, 45 

The planets, all the infinite host of heaven. 
Are shining on the sad abodes of death 
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread 
The globe are but a handful to the tribes 
That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings 5° 



204 fJRSl^ STEPS JA ENGLISH CLASSICS, 

Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness, 
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound 
Save his own dashings, — yet the dead are there. 
And millions in those solitudes, since first 
The flight of years began, have laid them down 
In their last sleep : the dead reign there alone. 
So shalt thou rest ; and what if thou withdraw 
In silence from the living, and no friend 
Take note of thy departure ? All that breathe 
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 
Plod on, and each one, as before, will chase 
His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave 
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come 
And make their bed with thee. As the long train 
Of ages ghdes away, the sons of men — 
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes. 
In the full strength of years, matron and maid. 
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man — 
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side 
By those who in their turn shall follow them. 

So live, that when thy summons comes to join 
The innumerable caravan which moves 
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take 
His chamber in the silent halls of death, 
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, 
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed 
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave 
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. 



THOMAS GRAY, 20^. 



CHAPTER XII. 

THOMAS GRAY (1716-1771). 

'^ Of all English poets, Gray was the most finished artist. He attained the high- 
est degree of splendor of which poetical style seemed to he capable." — Sir James 
Mackintosh. 

Thomas Gray was born in Cornhill, London, in 1716. 
His father was a scrivener and exchange-broker, whose 
unamiable character occasioned his separation from his 
wife, who seems to have had nothing in common with 
her brutal husband. Borne down by blighted affections 
and straitened circumstances, she struggled bravely to 
bring up respectably her family of eleven children. To 
the tender but unflinching devotion of this heroic woman, 
Thomas Gray owed his liberal education. 

In 1734 Gray went to Cambridge; but the routine of 
university life, and its necessary associations, proved 
extremely uncongenial. With the studies too, at least as 
there taught, he had no sympathy. Mathematics he had 
little liking for under any circumstances ; but even classic 
cal studies, of which he was passionately fond, lost much 
of their charm when doled out to him in prosy lectures. 

The life of the mild and melancholy student was a 
subject of wonder, mingled with ridicule, to the students 
of Cambridge. At length, in 1756, the irritating annoy- 
ances and practical jokes, to which these young men sub- 
jected the poet, caused him to seek permanent refuge in 



206 



FIRST STEPS TV EXGTISH CTASSICS, 



Pembroke Hall. A constitutional melancholy, but always 
lovable rather than misanthropic, as time wore on, settled 
down darker and darker upon the poet's life. His depres- 
sion of spirits is only too faithfully indicated in a letter 
written in 1757. ''As to myself," he writes, ''I cannot 
boast at present either of my spirits, my situation, my 
employment, or fertility. The days and nights pass, and 
I am never the nearer to any thing but that to which we 

are all tending." The "Elegy 
in a Country Churchyard " 
was given to the world in 
1750, and vras at once ad- 
mired and appreciated. At 
least eight 3^ears w^ere spent 
by Gray in elaborating it. 

In 1757 the poet-laureate, 
Cibber, died ; and the laurel 
with its emoluments was of- 
fered to Gray, but he declined 
the proffered honor. In 1768 
he was appointed professor 
of modern history at Cam- 
bridge. Although he was a laborious student, and en- 
joyed the reputation of being one of the most learned 
men in Europe, yet he was a failure as a college professor. 
He could only work when instinct and impulse led him, 
and that was not towards a very effective discharge of the 
duties of his position. For six years he had been unable 
to read with one eye, while the other was bewildered \\\\.\\ 
floating spots. He was not to suffer a long sickness. He 
died suddenly in the college hall, during dinner, July 24, 
1771. 




THOMAS GRAY. 



THOMAS GRAY. 



207 



When we consider his vast learning and unwearied appli- 
cation, the Uterary treasures which Gray has bequeathed 
to the world are few in number. Besides the immortal 
*' Elegy," his principal w^orks are, ^^The Bard," **The Prog- 
ress of Poesy," '^Ode to Eton College," poetical compo- 
sitions in Latin, and translations from various languages. 
Had Gray written more, he would have stood higher as an 
author ; but he will be always remembered as a splendid 
lyric poet, w^hose productions are marked by dignified 
language and finished grace. 



ELEGY 

WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. 

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, 

The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, 
And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 5 

And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 

xA.nd drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds ; 

Save that, from yonder ivy- mantled tower. 

The moping owl does to the moon complain 10 

Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, 

Molest her ancient sohtary reign. 

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, 
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, 

Each in his narrow cell forever laid, ^5 

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 



208 FIJ^ST STEPS I A' ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, 

The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, 

The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 

No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 20 

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, 

Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; 
No children run to lisp their sire's return, 

Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 25 

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; 

How jocund did they drive their team afield ! 

How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! 

Let not ambition mock their useful toil. 

Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 3° 

Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile 

The short and simple annals of the poor. 

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power. 
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 

Await alike the inevitable hour. 35 

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault. 
If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise. 

Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault 

The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 4° 

Can storied urn, or animated bust. 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? 

Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust. 
Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death? 



THOMAS GRAY, 



209 



Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 45 

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; 

Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed, 
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre. 

But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page 

Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll ; 5<5 

Chill penury repressed their noble rage, 

And froze the genial current of the soul. 

Full many a gem of purest ray serene 

The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear ; 
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 55 

And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 

Sbme village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast, 

The little tyrant of his fields withstood. 
Some mute inglorious Milton, here may rest, 

Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. 60 

The applause of listening senates to command, 

The threats of pain and ruin to despise. 
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 

And read their history in a nation's eyes, - — 

Their lot forbade : nor circumscribed alone 65 

Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined ; 

Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne. 
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind, — 

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide. 

To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, 7o 

Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride 
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. 



2IO FIRST STEPS IX EXGIISH CLASSICS. 

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife. 
Their sober wishes never learned to stray ; 

Along the cool sequestered vale oi life 71 

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 

Yet even these bones from insult to protect, 

Some frail memorial still erected nigh, 
With uncouth rhpnes and shapeless sculpture decked, 

Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. ^^ 

Their name, their years, spelt by the unlettered muse, 

The place of fame and eleg}^ supply ; 

And many a holy text around she strews. 

That teach the rustic moralist to die. 

For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, ' -5 

This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned. 

Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day. 
Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind? 

On some fond breast the parting soul rehes, 

Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; 9- 

Even from the tomb the voice of Nature cries. 
Even in our ashes Hve their wonted fires. 

For thee, who mindful of the unhonored dead 
Dost in these lines their artless tales relate ; 

If chance, by lonely contemplation led, 95 

Some kmdred spirit shall inquire thy fate. 

Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, : — 
" Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawil 

Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, 

To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. ^^ 



THOMAS GRAY, 211 

^^ There at the foot of yonder nodding beech, 
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, 

His Hstless length at noontide would he stretch, 
And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 

" Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, 105 

Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove ; 

Now drooping, woeful, w^an, like one forlorn. 

Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love. 

'' One morn I missed him on the customed hill, 

Along the heath, and near his favorite tree : no 

Another came ; nor yet beside the rill, 

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood, was he : 

" The next, with dirges due in sad array, 

Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne. 
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay 115 

Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." 

THE EPITAPH. 

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth, 

A youth to fortune and to fame unknown ; 
Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth, 

And jMelancholy marked him for her own. ^20 

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere. 

Heaven did a recompense as largely send : 
He gave to Misery all he had, a tear. 

He gained from Heaven ('twas all he wished) a friend. 

No farther seek his merits to disclose, 125 

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, 

(There they alike in trembling hope repose,) 
The bosom of his Father and his God. 



212 FIRST SI EPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

NATHAXIEL HAWTHORNE 1504-1864). 

'' There is H:i".':h:r"r. "-irh ^-"iis s: shriivki-c ind 
That yoi^ hiril;- ': r^r?: Srr T::e STre'r::: liii: is ihe 

So ei::-.r-, 5; ._ ; f: :^.r:. 



Lowell. 

Nathaniel Hawthorne, a brilliant and original master 
of English prose writing, was born in Salem, Mass., Julv 
4, 1 804. On account of feeble health, he lived during his 
youth on a farm in Maine. He graduated at Bowdoin 
College in 1825, in the same class with Longfellow. He 
began to write at an early age. His first publication was 
a collection of stories he had written for periodicals, 
entitled ''Twice-told Tales," published in 1837. This 
work, at first, made no impression on the public. * A second 
volume appeared in 1842. 

From 1838 to 1841 he held a position in the B :s: n 
Custom-house, afterwards a similar place in Salem. Hi- 
"Blithedale Romance" appeared in 1852. Shortly after, 
he married and went to live in Concord, Mass., in the old 
parsonage which he has made historic by his " Mosses from 
an Old Manse/ In 1846, while living at Salem, he wrote 
his best-known romance, '*The Scarlet Letter," which 
established his reputation. It is the most powerful and 
picturesque work of the kind in American literature. 



NA THA KIEL HA WTHORNE. 2 1 3 

After losing his office at Salem, he removed to Lenox, 
Mass., where he wrote his ''House of the Seven Gables." 
After his friend and classmate, Franklin Pierce, became 
President, Hawthorne was appointed consul to Liverpool. 
Upon his return home, ''The Marble Faun" was published. 
He wrote at different times several juvenile works, as the 
"Wonder Book," "Tanglewood Tales," "True Stories 
from History and Biography," all of which bear the im- 
press of the genius of their 

author. Durins; the last few ^^ ^\ 

years of his life, his health ^ ^ 
was delicate. He died sud- 
denly at Plymouth, N. H., 
in 1864, wdiile on a journey 
with ex-President Pierce. 

Hawthorne is regarded as 
one of the foremost writers of 
prose in English literature. 
His genius was unique. Li his 
peculiar field, he stands alone. 
He delighted to depict in his 
marvellous style the dark side 

-^ NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. 

of human nature. He loved to 

delineate and to lay bare the intricacies of human passion. 
Hawthorne was a shy and reserved man, but possessed 
of many kind and lovable traits. His intimate friends 
cherished him with loving admiration and sincere friend- 
ship. He had a strong physical frame, and a tall stature. 
He had broad shoulders, a deep chest, and a massive 
head. His gray-blue eyes were large and lustrous. His 
hair was dark brown, and of remarkable fineness ; his 
skin delicate, giving unusual softness to his complexion. 



214 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

In all business matters he was the soul of honor. His 
fault was that he attributed to other people a sense of 
honor equal to his own. 



LITTLE ANNIE'S RAMBLE. 

From " The Twice-Told Tales." 

Ding-dong ! Ding-dong ! Ding-dong ! 

The town-crier has rung his bell at a distant corner, and little 
Annie stands on her father's door-steps, trying to hear what the 
man with the loud voice is talking about. Let me listen too. 
Oh ! he is telHng the people that an elephant, and a lion, and a 
royal tiger, and a horse with horns, and other strange beasts from 
foreign countries, have come to town, and will receive all visitors 
who choose to wait upon them. Perhaps little Annie would like 
to go. Yes ; and I can see that the pretty child is weary of this 
wide and pleasant street, with the green trees flinging their shade 
across the quiet sunshine, and the pavements and the sidewalks 
all as clean as if the housemaid had just swept them with her 
broom. She feels that impulse to go strolling away — that long- 
ing after the mystery of the great world — which many children 
feel, and which I felt in my childhood. Little Annie shall take 
a ramble with me. See ! I do but hold out my hand, and like 
some bright bird in the sunny air, with her blue silk frock flutter- 
ing upwards from her white pantalets, she comes bounding on 
tiptoe across the street. 

Smooth back your brown curls, Annie, and let me tie on your 
bonnet, and we will set forth. What a strange couple to go on 
their rambles together ! One walks in black attire, with a meas- 
ured step, and a heavy brow, and his thoughtful eyes bent down, 
while the gay little girl trips lightly along, as if she were forced to 
keep hold of my hand, lest her feet should dance away from the 



NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. 21 5 

earth. Yet there is sympathy between us. If I pride myself on 
any thing, it is because I have a smile that children love ; and, 
on the other hand, there are few grown ladies that could entice 
me from the side of little Annie ; for I dehght to let my mind go 
hand in hand with the mind of a sinless child. So, come, Annie ; 
but if I moralize as we go, do not listen to me ; only look about 
you, and be merry. 

Now we turn the corner. Here are hacks with two horses, and 
stage-coaches with four, thundering to meet each other, and trucks 
and carts moving at a slower pace, being heavily laden with bar- 
rels from the wharves, and here are rattling gigs, which perhaps 
will be smashed to pieces before our eyes. Hitherward, also, 
comes a man trundling a wheelbarrow along the pavement. Is 
not little Annie afraid of such a tumult ? No ; she doe» not even 
shrink closer to my side, but passes on with fearless confidence, 
a happy child amidst a great throng of grown people, Avho pay 
the same reverence to her infancy that they would to extreme old 
age. Nobody jostles her; all turn aside to make way for little 
Annie ; and, what is most singular, she appears conscious of her 
claim to such respect. Now her eyes brighten with pleasure ! A 
street musician has seated himself on the steps of yonder church, 
and pours forth his strains to the busy town, a melody that has 
gone astray among the tramp of footsteps, the buzz of voices, and 
the war of passing wheels. Who heeds the poor organ-grinder? 
None but myself and httle Annie, whose feet begin to move in 
unison with the lively tune, as if she were loath that music should 
be wasted without a dance. But where would Annie find a part- 
ner? Some have the gout in their toes, or the rheumatism in 
their joints; some, are stiff with age; some feeble with disease; 
some are so lean that their bones would rattle, and others of such 
ponderous size that their agihty would crack the flag-stones ; but 
many, many have leaden feet, because their hearts are far heavier 
than lead. It is a sad thought that I have chanced upon. What 
a company of dancers should we be ! For I, too, am a gentle- 



2l6 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

man of sober footsteps, and therefore, little Annie, let us walk 
sedately on. 

It is a question with me, whether this giddy child or my sage 
self have most pleasure in looking at the shop-windows. We love 
the silks of sunny hue, that glow within the darkened premises 
of the spruce dry-goods men ; we are pleasantly dazzled by the 
burnished silver, and the chased gold, the rings of wedlock, and 
the costly love-ornaments, glistening at the window of the jew- 
eller ; but Annie, more than I, seeks for a glimpse of her passing 
figure in the dusty looking-glasses at the hardware stores. All 
that is bright and gay attracts us both. 

Here is a shop to which the recollections of my boyhood, as 
well as present partialities, give a pecuhar magic. How delightful 
to let the fancy revel on the dainties of a confectioner ; those 
pies, with such white and flaky paste, their contents being a mys- 
tery, whether rich mince, with whole plums intermixed, or piquant 
apple, delicately rose-flavored : those cakes, heart-shaped or round, 
piled in a lofty pyramid ; those sweet little circlets, sweetly named 
kisses ; those dark, majestic masses, fit to be bridal loav'es at the 
wedding of an heiress, mountains in size, their summits deeply 
snow-covered with sugar ! Then the mighty treasures of sugar- 
plums, white and crimson and yellow, in large glass vases ; and 
candy of all varieties ; and those httle cockles, or whatever they 
are cafled, much prized by children for their sweetness, and more 
for the mottoes w^iich they enclose, by love-sick maids and bach- 
elors. Oh I my mouth waters, little Annie, and so doth yours ; 
but we wfll not be tempted, except to an imaginary feast ; so let 
us hasten onward, devouring the vision of a plum-cake. 

Here are pleasures, as some people would say, of a more 
exalted kind, in a window of a bookseller. Is Annie a hterary 
lady? Yes; she is deeply read in Peter Parley's tomes, and has 
an increasing love for fairy-tales, though seldom met with nowa- 
days, and she will subscribe next year to the Juvenile Miscellany. 
But^ truth to tell, she is apt to turn away from the printed page, 



NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE, 21 y 

and keep gazing at the pretty pictures^ such as the gay-colored 
ones which make this shop-window the continual loitering-place 
of children. What would Annie think, if, in the book which 
I mean to send her on New Year's Day, she should find her sweet 
little self, bound up in silk or morocco, with gilt edges, there to 
remain till she become a woman grown, with children of her own 
to read about their mother's childhood ! That would be very 
queer. 

Little Annie is weary of pictures, and pulls me onward by the 
hand, till suddenly we pause at the most wondrous shop in all the 
town. Oh, my stars! Is this a toy-shop, or is it fairy-land? 
For here are gilded chariots, in which the king and queen of the 
fairies might ride side by side, while their courtiers, on these 
small horses, should gallop in triumphal procession before and 
behind the royal pair. Here, too, are dishes of china-ware, fit 
to be the dining-set of those same princely personages, when they 
make a regal banquet in the stateliest hall of their palace, full fi\Q 
feet high, and behold their nobles feasting adown the long per- 
spective of the table. Betwixt the king and queen should sit my 
little x\nnie, the prettiest fairy of them all. Here stands a tur- 
baned Turk, threatening us with his sabre, like an ugly heathen 
as he is, and next a Chinese mandarin w^ho nods his head at 
Annie and myself. Here we may review a whole army of horse 
and foot, in red and blue uniforms, with drums, fifes, trumpets, 
and all kinds of noiseless music : they have halted on the shelf 
of this window, after their weary march from Lilliput. But what 
cares Annie for soldiers? No conquering queen is she, neither 
a Semiramis nor a Catharine ; her whole heart is set upon that 
doll, who gazes at us with such a fashionable stare. This is the 
little girl's true plaything. Though made of wood, a doll is a 
visionary and ethereal personage, endowed by childish fancy with 
a peculiar life ; the mimic lady is a heroine of romance, an actor 
and a sufferer in a thousand shadowy scenes, the chief inhabitant 
of that wild world with which children ape the real one. Little 



21 8 FIRST STEPS TV EXGTISH CTASSICS. 

Annie does not understand what I am sa}dng, but looks wishfully 
at the proud lady in the window. We will imdte her home with 
us as we return. Meantime, good-by, Dame Doll ! A toy your- 
self, you look forth from your window upon many ladies that are 
also toys, though they walk and sj^eak^ and upon a crowd in pur- 
suit of toys, though they wear grave visages. Oh, with your 
never-closing eyes, had you but an intellect to moralize on all that 
flits before them, what a wise doll would you be ! Come, little 
Annie, we shall find toys enough, go where we may. 

Now we elbow our way among the throng again. It is curious, 
in the most crowded part of a town, to meet w^th li\ang creatures 
that had their birthplace in some far solitude, but have acquired 
a second nature in the wilderness of men. Look up, Annie, at 
that canary-bird, hanging out of the window in his cage. Poor 
little fellow ! his golden feathers are all tarnished in this smoky 
sunshine. He would have ghstened t\\-ice as brightly among the 
summer islands ; btit still he has become a citizen in all his tastes 
and habits, and would not sing half so well without the uproar 
that drowns his music. What a pit}* that he does not know how 
miserable he is ! There is a paiTOt, too, calling out, '* Pretty 
Poll I pretty Poll!" as we pass by. Foohsh bird, to be talking 
about her prettiness to strangers, especially as she is not a pretty 
Poll, though gaudily dressed in green and yellow ! If she had 
said, '' Pretty Annie," there would have been some sense in it. 
See that gray squirrel at the door of the fruit-shop, whirhng 
round and round so merrilv within his wire wheel. Beins: con- 
demned to the treadmill, he makes it an amusement. Admirable 
philosophy ! 

Here comes a big, rough dog, a countr}^man's dog, in search 
of his master ; smelling at ever}'body's heels, and touching little 
Annie's hand with his cold nose, but hurrying away, though she 
would fain have patted him. Success to your search, Fidelity ! 
And there sits a great yellow cat upon a window-sill, — a very 
corpulent and comfortable cat, gazing at tliis transitory world 



NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. 219 

with owl's eyes, and making pithy comments, doubtless, or what 
appear such, to the silly beast. Oh, sage puss, make room for 
me beside you, and we will be a pair of philosophers ! 

Here w^e see something to remind us of the town- crier and 
his ding-dong bell. Look ! look at that great cloth spread out 
in the air, pictured all over with wild beasts, as if they had met 
together to choose a king, according to their custom in the days 
of ^sop. But they are choosing neither a king nor a president, 
else we should hear a most horrible snarling ! They have come 
from the deep woods and the wild mountains and the desert 
sands and the polar snows, only to do homage to my little Annie. 
As we enter among them, the great elephant makes us a bow, in 
the best style of elephantine courtesy, bending lowly down his 
mountain bulk, with trunk abased, and leg thrust out behind. 
Annie returns the salute, much to the gratification of the ele- 
phant, who is certainly the best-bred monster in the caravan. 
The lion and the lioness are busy wdth two beef- bones. The 
royal tiger, the beautiful, the untamable, keeps pacing his narrow 
cage with a haughty step, unmindful of the spectators, or re 
calling the fierce deeds of his former life, when he was w^ont 
to leap forth upon such inferior animals, from the jungles of 
Bengal. 

Here we see the very same w^olf, — do not go near him, Annie, 
— the self-same wolf that devoured little Red Riding Hood and 
her grandmother. In the next cage, a hyena from Egypt, who 
has doubtless howled around the Pyramids,^ and a black bear from 
our own forests, are fellows-prisoners and most excellent friends. 
Are there any tw^o living creatures who have so few sympathies 
that they cannot possibly be friends? Here sits a great white 
bear, whom common observers would call a very stupid beast, 
though I perceive him to be only absorbed in contemplation. 
He is thinking of his voyages on an iceberg, and of his com- 
fortable home in the vicinity of the North Pole, and of the little 
cubs whom he left rolling in the eternal snows ; m fact, he is a 



220 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS, 

bear of sentiment. But oh, those unsentimental monkeys ! the 
ugly, grinning, aping, chattering, ill-natured, mischievous, and 
queer little brutes. Annie does not love the monkeys. Their 
ugliness shocks her pure, instinctive delicacy of taste, and makes 
her mind unquiet, because it bears a wild and dark resemblance 
to humanity. But here is a little pony, just big enough for Annie 
to ride, and round and round he gallops in a circle, keeping time 
with his tramping hoofs to a band of music. And here, with a 
laced coat and a cocked hat, and a riding- whip in his hand, — 
here comes a little gentleman, small enough to be king of the 
fairies, and ugly enough to be king of the gnomes, and takes 
a flying leap into the saddle. Merrily, merrily, plays the music, 
and merrily gallops the pony, and merrily rides the little old 
gentleman. Come, Annie, into the street again; perchance we 
may see monkeys on horseback there ! 

Mercy on us, what a noisy world we quiet people live in ! Did 
Annie ever read the cries of London city ? With what lusty lungs 
doth yonder man proclaim that his wheelbarrow is full of lobsters ! 
Here comes another mounted on a cart, and blowing a hoarse 
and dreadful blast from a tin horn, as much as to say, " Fresh 
fish ! " And hark ! a voice on high, hke that of a muezzin from 
the summit of a mosque, announcing that some chimney-sweeper 
has emerged from smoke and soot and darksome caverns, into 
the upper air. What cares the world for that ? But, well-a-day, 
we hear a shrill voice of affliction, the scream of a Httle child, 
rising louder with every repetition of that smart, sharp, slapping 
sound, produced by an open hand on tender flesh. Annie sym- 
pathizes, though without experience of such direful woe. Lo ! 
the town-crier again, with some new secret for the pubUc ear. 
Will he tell us of an auction, or of a lost pocket-book, or a show 
of beautiful wax figures, or of some monstrous beast more horri- 
ble than any in the caravan? I guess the latter. See how he 
uplifts the bell in his right hand, and shakes it slowly at first, then 
with a hurried motion, till the clapper seems to strike both sides 



NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. 221 

at once, and the sounds are scattered forth in quick succession, 
far and near. 

Ding-dong ! ding-dong ! ding-dong ! 

Now he raises his clear, loud voice above all the din of the 
town; it drowns the buzzing talk of many tongues, and draws 
each man's mind from his own business : it rolls up and down the 
echoing street, and ascends to the hushed chamber of the sick, 
and penetrates downward to the cellar-kitchen, where the hot 
cook turns from the fire to Hsten. Who, of all that address the 
public ear, whether in church or court-house or hall of state, has 
such an attentive audience as the town-crier? What saith the 
people's orator? 

"Strayed from her home, a little girl, of five years old, in 
a blue silk frock and white pantalets, with brown curhng hair 
and hazel eyes. Whoever will bring her back to her afflicted 
mother" — 

Stop, stop, town-crier ! the lost is found. Oh, my pretty Annie, 
we forgot to tell your mother of our ramble, and she is in despair, 
and has sent the town-crier to bellow up and down the streets, 
affrighting old and young, for the loss of a little girl who has not 
once let go my hand. Well, let us hasten homeward ; and as we 
go, forget not to thank Heaven, my x'\nnie, that, after wandering 
a little way into the world, you may return at the first summons, 
with an untainted and unwearied heart, and be a happy child 
again. But I have gone too far astray for the town-crier to call 
me back. 

Sweet has been the charm of childhood on my spirit, through- 
out my ramble with little Annie. Say not that it has been a 
waste of precious moments, an idle matter, a babble of childish 
talk, and a revery of childish imaginations, about topics unworthy 
of a grown man's notice. Has it been merely this ? Not so ; 
not so. They are not truly wise who would affirm it. As the 
pure breath of children revives the life of aged men, so is our 
moral nature revived by their free and simple thoughts, their 



22 2 FIRST STEPS IiY ENGLISH CLASSICS, 

native feeling, their airy mirth, for Httle cause or none, their grief, 
soon roused and soon allayed. Their influence on us is at least 
reciprocal with ours on them. When our infancy is almost for- 
gotten, and our boyhood long departed, though it seems but as 
yesterday ; when life settles darkly down upon us, and we doubt 
whether to call ourselves young any more, then it is good to steal 
away from the society of bearded men, and even of gentler 
woman, and spend an hour or two with children. After drinking 
from those fountains of still fresh existence, we shall return into 
the crowd, as I do now, to struggle onward and do our part in 
life, perhaps as fervently as ever, but, for a time, with a kinder 
and purer heart, and a spirit more hghtly wise. All this by thy 
sweet magic, dear little Amiie 1 



ROBEK'l BL'RiYS. 223 



CHAPTER XIV. 

ROBERT BURNS (1759-1796). 

'' Burns is b}' far the greatest poet that ever sprang from the bosom ot the people, 
and lived and died in an humble condition.'- — Professor Wilson. 

" But who his human heart has laid 
To Nature's bosom nearer ? 
Who sweetened toil like him, or paid 
To love a tribute dearer ? 

" Give lettered pomp to teeth of Time, 
So ' Bonnie Doon ' but tarry ; 
Blot out the epic's stately rhyme, 
But spare his ' Highland Mary ' ! '' 

John G. Yv'hittier. 

Robert Burns, ''the Shakspeare of Scotland " as some 
one has justly called him, was born in 1759, ^^ Alloway, 
in Ayrshire, Scotland, where his father had a small farm. 
Burns received a scanty school education, for his father 
kept his sons at home in order to help with the work of 
the farm. The future poet made the most of his oppor- 
tunities, and increased his knowledge by studying the very 
few books within his reach. The greater part of Burns's 
education was gained at home. His father had a choice, 
though limited, stock of books, all of which he read eagerly 
and thoroughly. His mother, a truly religious woman, 
was devoted to her son ''Robbie," who inherited many of 
her amiable qualities. 



224 



FIRST STEPS TV EXGLISH CLASSICS, 



As Burns went whistling behind his plough, thoughts 
of nature and its beauties, of love and its tender emotions, 
would gradually shape themselves into words and rhythm, 
such as would suit exactly the very tunes he was whis- 
tling. Thus, song-making was his earliest effort as a poet. 
As his mind expanded, his life as a ploughman became 
tiresome and disagreeable, and at last utterly unendur- 
able. He consequently left it, tried farming on his own 

account, and failed. Disgust- 
ed with every thing about 
him, he resolved to leave 
Scotland, and to trv his for- 
tune in the West Indies, 
where so many Scots had 
already reaped an abundance 
of wealth. In order to pay 
the expense of the voyage 
out, Burns published a co'- 
lection of his poems. This 
was so successful that he 
received more than enough 
money, and great popularity. 
Under these circumstances, 
he gave up the idea of going abroad; and the Ayrshire 
poet was invited by the great people of Edinburgh to pay 
them a visit. They gave him a most cordial reception 
when he came, feasting and lionizing him ; and he, plough- 
man though he was, conducted himself as if he were the 
finest gentleman among them. When this grand time 
was over, the poet went back to his old life, which did not 
look more pleasant after his brilliant holiday experiences 
in Edinburgh. Troubles came upon him, and he had at 




ROBERT BURXS. 



ROBERT BURNS, 225 

last to accept the humble office of exciseman. Unfortu- 
nately, this was the very worst employment he could have 
engaged in. He craved strong drink, and in the fulfil- 
ment of his dirties as exciseman he had too many oppor- 
tunities of indulging himself. One night in January he 
caught cold. The cold brought on fever ; and at the age 
of thirty-seven the great but unfortunate poet died, in 1796, 
at Dumfries, leaving a wife and six children in poverty. 

Burns is best known as a lyric poet. His songs are 
mostly about love, patriotism, and pleasure. Of the first, 
that beginning '^Ae fond kiss, and then we sever," is a 
good example ; of the second, "• Scots wha hae wi' Wallace 
bled ; " and of the third, the songs which occur through- 
out '' The Jolly Beggars." The characteristics of his style 
are humor, careful and loving study of nature, and an 
ability to express the emotions of the human heart which 
Shakspeare alone has been able to excel. His songs, for 
this reason, are known and sung in all regions of the 
globe. 

In speaking of Burns, Sir Walter Scott thus describes 
his personal appearance : '' His person was strong and 
robust ; his manners rustic, a sort of dignified plainness 
and simplicity, which received part of its effect, perhaps, 
from one's knowledge of his extraordinary talents. His 
countenance was more massive than it looks in any of the 
portraits. There was a strong expression of sense and 
shrewdness in all his lineaments ; the eye alone indicated 
the poetical character and tem.perament. It was large, 
and of a dark cast, which glowed when he spoke with 
feeling or interest. I never saw such another eye in a 
human head, though I have seen the most distinguished 
men of my time." 



226 FIRST STEPS TV EXGTISH CTASSICS. 

THE COTTER'S SATURDAY XIGHT. 

Yix lov'd, my honor'd, much respected friend ! 

Xo mercenary- bard his homage pays : • 
With honest pride I scorn each selfish end, 

My dearest meed a friend's esteem and praise : 

To you I sing in simple Scottish lays 5 

The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene ; 
The native feelings strong, the g^aileless ways ; 

\\liat Aiken in a cottage would have been ; 

Ah ! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there. I ween. 

November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh ; lo 

The shortening winter-day is near a close ; 
The miry beasts retreating fi-ae the pleugh ; 

The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose : 

The toil-worn cotter frae his labour goes^ 

This night his weekly moil is at an end, ^5 

Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, 

Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, 

And weary, o'er the moor, his course does ham e ward bend. 

At length his lonely cot appears in \-iew, 

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; 20 

Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher through 

To meet their dad, wi' fiichterin noise an' glee. 
His wee bit ingle, bhnkin bonihe, 

His clean hearth-stane. his thrifiie wiiie's smile, 
Tlie lisping infant prattling on his knee. 25 

Does a' his weary carking cares beguile. 
An' makes him quite forget his labour an' his toil. 

Bel\we the elder bairns come drapping in. 

At senice out amang the farmers roun' : 
Some ca' the pleugh. some herd, some tentie rin 3^ 

A cannie errand to a neebor town : 



ROBERT BURNS. 22^ 

Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman-grown, 

In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e, 
Comes hame, perhaps, to shew a braw new gown, 

Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee, 35 

To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. 

Wi' joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters meet, 

An' each for other's weelfare kindly spiers : 
The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnotic'd fleet ; 

Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears ; 4° 

The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years ; 

Anticipation forward points the view. 
The mother wi' her needle an' her sheers 

Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new ; 
The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. 45 

Their master's an' their mistress's command 

The younkers a' are warned to obey ; 
An' mind their labours wi' an eydent hand. 

An' ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play : 
An' oh ! be sure to fear the Lord alway, 5° 

" An' mind your duty, duely, morn an' night ! 
Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray, 

Implore His counsel and assisting might : 
They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright ! " 

But hark ! a rap comes gently to the door ; 55 

Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, 
Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor 

To do some errands, and convoy her hame. 
The wily mother sees the conscious flame 

Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek; 6° 

With heart-struck, anxious care, inquires his name. 

While Jenny hafdins is afraid to speak ; 
Weel pleas'd the mother hears, it's nae wild, worthless rake. 



228 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben ; 

A strappan youth ; he takes the mother's eye ; 65 

Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en ; 

The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye. 
The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, 

But, blate and laithfu', scarce can weel behave ; 
The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy 70 

What makes the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave ; 
Weel-pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lave. 

O happy love ! where love like this is found ! 

O heart-felt raptures ! bliss beyond compare 1 
I've paced much this weary mortal round, 75 

And sage experience bids me this declare — 
"If Heaven a draught of heav'nly pleasure spare, 

One cordial in this melancholy vale, 
'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair 

In other's arms breathe out the tender tale ^o 

Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the ev'ning gale." 

Is there, in human form, that bears a heart — 

A wretch ! a villain ! lost to love and truth ! 
That can with studied, sly, ensnaring art 

Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth ? ^5 

Curse on his perjur'd arts ! dissembling smooth ! 

Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exil'd? 
Is there no pity, no relenting ruth. 

Points to the parents fondling o'er their child? 
Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their distraction wild ! 9° 

But now the supper crowns their simple board. 
The healsome parritch, chief o' Scotia's food : 

The soupe their only Hawkie does afford, 

That 'yont the hallen snugly chows her cood ; 



1 



ROBERT BURNS, 229 

The dame brings forth in compUmental mood, 95 

To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck, fell, 

An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid ; 
The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell. 

How 'twas a towmond auld, sin' Hnt was i' the bell. 

The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face lOQ 

They round the ingle form a circle wide ; 
The sire turns o'er wi' patriarchal grace 

The big ha'-Bible, ance his father's pride ; 
His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, 

His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare ; 105 

Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide. 

He wales a portion with judicious care ; 
And ^^ Let us worship God ! " he says, with solemn air. 

They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; 

They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim; 110 

Perhaps Dundee's wild warbling measures rise. 

Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name ; 
Or noble Elgin beets the heav'nward flame. 

The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays : 
Compar'd with these Italian trills are tame ; "5 

The tickl'd ears no heart-felt raptures raise ; 
Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. 

The priest-like father reads the sacred page. 

How Abram was the friend of God on high ; 
Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage i^ 

With Amalek's ungracious progeny ; 
Or how the royal bard did groaning lie 

Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire; 
Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry ; 

Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire ; 125 

Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre^ 



r/I^^Sr STEPS AV EXGLISH CLASSICS. 

Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme ; 

How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed ; 
How He. bore in heaven the second name. 

Had :. : r : th whereon to lay His head ; 13^ 

He V His r : :^ers and servants sped; 

T - 1 -^^^_ ^ - - ~^^ey wrote to many a land : 
How he, who \::\z :: Patmos banished. 

Saw in the s :: _ - angel stand. 

And heard grc:: Z:_ ::is doom pronounced by Heaven's 
conunand. 155 

Then kneeling down, to Heave:: s E:e: ::. H iig 
T::e 5 : : :he father, and the husband prays : 
H :e 5 : :_s exulting on triumphant wing," 

T::.:: : :- : e .11 shall meet in future days: 
T::r:e e e: ::d^ : :: created rays, H~ 

No : ::r : _ : :ed the bitter tear, 

Tcge: : : ; : ;_ : r : Creitor's praise, 

I: - - r: r: s: d : re dear; 
While : d : _ T : . r : oves round in an e : :: : : - d e r e , 

C: : par'd with this, how poor Rehgion's pride, M5 

I:: ad ihe pomp of method, and of art, 
^Vd :. : e:i display to congregations wide 

d r : : on's ev'ry grace, except the heart ! 
The Pow'r, incens'd, the pageant will desert. 

The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole ; 15- 

But haply, in some cottage far apart, 

]VIay hear, well pleas'd, the language of the soul. 
And in his Book oi Lde :he inmates poor enrolL 

Then homeward ad- ::d:r :d ~.':.z'- sev'ral way; 

The youngling cottagers : : :r :: rest; ^f: 

The parent-pair their secre: re pay. 

And proffer up to H^a '.:.z ann request. 



ROBERT BURNS. 231 

That He who stills the raven's clam'rous nest, 

And decks the Hly fair in flow'ry pride, 
Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best, i^ 

For them and for their little ones provide. 
But chiefly in their hearts with grace divine preside. 

From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, 

That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad : 
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, ^65 

^^ An honest man's the noblest work of God : " 
And certes, in fair virtue's heavenly road, 

The cottage leaves the palace far behind ; 
What is a lordhng's pomp ? a cumbrous load. 

Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, 170 

Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refin'd ! 

O Scotia ! my dear, my native soil ! 

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent ! 
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil 

Be blest with health and peace and sweet content ! 175 

And, oh ! may Heaven their simple lives prevent 

From luxury's contagion weak and vile ; 
Then, howe'er crov/ns and coronets be rent, 

A virtuous populace may rise the while. 
And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd isle. i^o 

O Thou ! who pour'd the patriotic tide 

That stream'd thro' Wallace's undaunted heart ; 
Who dar'd to nobly stem tyrannic pride. 

Or nobly die, the second glorious part, 
(The patriot's God peculiarly thou art, 185 

His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward !) 
Oh, never, never, Scotia's realm desert, 

But still the patriot and the patriot-bard 
In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard ! 



2^2 F/RST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 



TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY, 

ON THE TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH, 
IN APRIL. 1 1 



Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower, 
Thou's met me in an evil hour ; 
For I maun crush amang the stoure 

Thy slender stem ; 
To spare thee now is past my power, 5 

Thou bonnie gem. 

Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet. 
The bonnie lark, companion meet, 
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet, 

Wi' spreckled breast, 10 

When upward-springing, blithe, to greet 

The purpling East. 

Cauld blew the bitter-biting north 

Upon thy early, humble birth ; 

Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth 15 

Amid the storm, 
Scarce rear'd above the parent earth 

Thy tender form. 

The flaunting flowers our gardens yield. 

High sheltering woods and wa's maun shield ; 20 

But thou, beneath the random bield 

O' clod or stane. 
Adorns the histie stibble-field, 

Unseen, alane. 



ROBERT BURNS. 233 

There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 25 

Thy snawie bosom sunward spread, 
Thou lifts thy unassuming head 

In humble guise; 
But now the share uptears thy bed, 

And low thou lies 1 30 

Such is the fate of artless maid. 
Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade ! 
By love's simplicity betray '*d. 

And guileless trust. 
Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid 35 

Low i' the dust. 

Such is the fate of simple bard. 

On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd ! 

Unskilful he to note the card 

Of prudent lore, 40 

Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, 

And whelm him o'er ! 

Such fate to suffering worth is given. 

Who long with wants and woes has striven, 

By human pride or cunning driven 45 

To misery's brink, ^ 

Till wrench'd of every stay but Heaven, 

He, ruin'd, sink ! 

Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, 

That fate is thine, — no distant date : 50 

Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate, 

Full on thy bloom. 
Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight, 

Shall be thy doom ! 



234 FIRST STEPS TV ENGLISH CLASSICS. 



FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT. 

Is there, for honest poverty. 

That hangs his head, and a' that ? 
The coward-slave, we pass him by, 
We dare be poor for a' that ! 
For a' that, and a" that. 

Our toils obscure, and a' that ; 
The rank is but the guinea stamp; 
The man's the gowd for a* that. 

What tho" on hamely fare we dine. 
Wear hodden-gray, and a' that ; 
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, 
A man's a man for a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that. 

Their tinsel show, and a' that : 
The honest man, tho" e'er sae poor, 
Is King o' men for a" that. 

Ye see yon birkie. ca'd a lord. 

Wha struts, and stares, and a* that; 
Tho' hundreds worship at his word, 
.He's but a coof for a" that : 
For a' that, and a' that. 

His riband, star, and a* that, 
The man of independent mind, 
He looks and laughs at a' that. 

A prince can mak a belted knight, 

• A marquis, duke, and a' that: 
But an honest man's aboon his might, 

Guid faith he maunna fa" that ! 



ROBERT BURNS. 235 

For a' that, and a' that, 

Their dignities, and a' that, 3° 

The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, 

Are higher rank than a* that. 

Then let us pray that come it may, 

As come it will for a' that ; 
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, 35 

May bear the gre^, and a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that, 

It's coming yet, for a' that. 
That man to man, the warld o'er, 

Shall brothers be, for a' that. 40 



HIGHLAND MARY. 

Ye banks, and braes, and streams around 

The castle o' Montgomery, 
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers. 

Your waters never drumlie ! 
There simmer first unfauld her robes, 5 

And there the langest tarry; 
For there I took the last fareweel 

O' my sweet Highland Mary. 

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk. 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom, 10 

As underneath their fragrant shade 

I clasp'd her to my bosom ! 
The golden hours, on angel wings, 

Flew o'er me and my dearie ; 
For dear to me, as light and life, 15 

Was may sweet Highland Mary. 



236 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

Wi' monie a vow, and lock'd embrace, 

Our parting was fu' tender ; 
And, pledging aft to meet again. 

We tore oursels asunder ; 20 

But oh ! fell death's untimely frost, 

That nipt my flower sae early ! 
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay, 

That wraps my Highland Mary ! 

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 25 

I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly ! 
And closed for ay the sparkling glance 

That dwelt on me sae kindly ! 
And mould'ring now in silent dust, 

That heart that lo'ed me dearly ! 30 

But still within my bosom's core 

Shall live my Highland Mary. 



TO MARY IN HEAVEN. 

Thou lingering star, with less'ning ray, 

That lov'st to greet the early morn, 
Again thou usher'st in the day 

My Mary from my soul was torn. 
O Mary ! dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest? 
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 

That sacred hour can I forget ? 

. Can I forget the hallow'd grove, 

Where by the winding Ayr we met. 

To live one day of parting love ? 



ROBERT BURNS. 237 

Eternity will not efface 

Those records dear of transports past ; 
Thy image at our last embrace ; 15 

Ah ! little thought we 'twas our last ! 

Ayr gurgling kiss'd his pebbled shore, 

O'erhung with wild woods, thick'ning green ; 
The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, 

Twin'd am'rous round the raptured scene. 20 

The flowers sprang wanton to be prest, 

The birds sang love on ev'ry spray, 
Till too, too soon, the glowing west 

Proclaimed the speed of winged day. 

Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes, 25 

And fondly broods with miser care ! 
Time but the impression deeper makes, 

As streams their channels deeper wear. 
My Mary, dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest? 30 

Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 



238 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 



CHAPTER XV. 

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES (1809-1894). 

" Long may he live to make broader the face of our care-ridden generation, and 
to reaUze for himself the truth of the wise man's declaration, that ' a merry heart is 
a continual feast.'" — John G. Whittier. 

Oliver Wendell Holmes, one of the wittiest and 
wisest of American authors, was born in Cambridge, 
Mass., in 1809. He graduated at Harvard College in 
1829. He began to study law, but soon gave up the idea 
for the study of medicine. After several years of study, 
both at home and abroad, he began the practice of medi- 
cine in Boston. He was chosen professor of anatomy and 
physiology in Dartmouth College in 1838, and was called 
to the same chair in Harvard Medical College in 1847. 

His first literary effort of any note w^as a poem delivered 
at Harvard College in 1836. The warm praise with which 
this poem was received doubtless stimulated the young 
physician to other literary work. His first volume of col- 
lected poems was published in 1836. For over fifty years 
Dr. Holmes made every year a great variety of contribu- 
tions to our literature, — poems, novels, essays, and medi- 
cal writings. 

When the "Atlantic Monthly'' was founded in 1857, 
Dr. Holmes began a series of papers called "The Auto- 
crat of the Breakfast Table," which did much to increase 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 



239 



the fame of the genial doctor. For thirty years he was a 
regular and favorite contributor to the ''Atlantic." Two 
other volumes have since been added to the '' Breakfast- 
Table " series. This delightful series of papers is unique 
in our literature ; abounding in delicate fancies, genial wit, 
and good-natured satire. These papers are bright, sharp, 
and witty and we rarely tire 
of them. 

His first novel, '' Elsie 
Venner," appeared in 1861, 
and '^The Guardian Ano-el " 
in 1867. Dr. Holmes also 
made many and notable con- 
tributions to medical litera- 
ture. He wrote prose and 
verse with equal success. His 
style is marked by certain 
original and characteristic 
traits, — genial humor, mirth- 
ful satire, brilliant wit, and 
tender sentiment. 

Personally, Dr. Holmes w^as a man of slight build, neat 
and precise in all of his actions. He lectured every year 
for nearly forty years on anatomy at the Harvard ^.ledical 
College No man was ever more admired by his students. 
There seemed no end to the witty sayings, sharp repartees, 
and funny stories, with which he made this dry subject 
attractive to thousands of medical students. Even dur- 
ing the last days of his long life Dr. Holmes was still 
busy with his pen. No one ever thought of him as an 
old man. 




OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 



240 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 



MY AUNT. 

My aunt ! my dear unmarried aunt ! 

Long years have o'er her flown ; 
Yet still she strains the aching clasp 

That binds her virgin zone : 
I know it hurts her, — though she looks 5 

As cheerful as she can ; 
Her waist is ampler than her life, 

For life is but a span. 

My aunt ! my poor deluded aunt ! 

Her hair is almost gray ; lo 

Why will she train that winter cur] 

In such a spring-like way? 
How can she lay her glasses down, 

And say she reads as well, 
When through a double convex lens ^5 

She just makes out to spell? 

Her father — grandpapa ! forgive 

This erring lip its smiles — 
Vowed she should make the finest girl 

Within a hundred miles ; 20 

He sent her to a styHsh school, — 

'Twas in her thirteenth June, — 
And with her, as the rules required, 

^^Two towels and a spoon." 

They braced my aunt against a board 25 

To make her straight and tall ; 
They laced her up, they starved her down, 

To make her light and small ; 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 241 

They pinched her feet, they singed her hair, 

They screwed it up with pins, — 3° 

Oh, never mortal suffered more 
In penance for her sins. 

So, when my precious aunt was done, 

My grandsire brought her back 
(By dayhght, lest some rabid youth 35 

Might follow on the track) . 
" Ah ! " said my grandsire, as he shook 

Some powder in his pan, 
" What could this lovely creature do 

Against a desperate man ! " 4© 

Alas ! nor chariot nor barouche, 

Nor bandit cavalcade, 
Tore from the trembling father's arms 

His all-accomplished maid. 
For her how happy had it been ! 45 

And Heaven had spared to me 
To see one sad, ungathered rose 

On my ancestral tree. 

THE LAST LEAF. 

I SAW him once before 
As he passed by the door ; 

And again 
The pavement-stones resound 
As he totters o'er the ground 5 

With his cane. 

They say that in his prime. 
Ere the pruning-knife of Time 
Cut him down, 



242 FIRST STEPS TV EyOLISH CLASSICS. 

Not a better man was found ^o 

By the crier on his round 

Through the town. 

But now he walks the streets, 
And he looks at all he meets, 

Sad and wan : 15 

And he shakes his feeble head, 
That it seems as if he said, 

^* They are gone !" 

The mossy marbles rest 

On the Hps that he has prest 20 

In their bloom : 
And the names he loved to hear 
Have been carved for many a year 

On the tomb. 

^[y grandmamma has said, — 25 

Poor old lady I she is dead 

Long ago, — 
That he had a Roman nose, 
And his cheek was like a rose 3- 

In the snow. 

But now his nose is thin. 
And it rests upon his chin 

Like a staff; 
And a crook is in his back, 35 

And a melanchoh- crack 

In his laugh. 

I know it is a sin 
For me to sit and grin 

At him here j 4- 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 243 

But the old three-cornered hat, 
And the breeches, and all that, 
Are so queer ! 

And, if I should live to be 

The kst leaf upon the tree 45 

In the spring, 
Let them smile, as I do now. 
At the old forsaken bough 

Where I cling. 



For all the blessings life has brought, 
For all its sorrowing hours have taught. 
For all we mourn, for all we keep, 
The hands we clasp, the loved that sleep ; 

The noontide sunshine of the past. 
Those brief, bright moments fading fast. 
The stars that gild our darkening years, 
The twilight ray from holier spheres, — 

We thank thee. Father ! let thy grace 
Our narrowing circle still embrace, 
Thy mercy shed its heavenly store. 
Thy peace be with us evermore ! 

Fro 771 '^ Hyi7in for the Class- Meeting. 



244 FIRST STEPS TV EXGTISH CTASSICS, 



CHAPTER XVI. 

SIR WALTER SCOTT (1771-1832). 

*•' Who is there; that looking back over a great portion of his Ufe. does not find 
the genius of Scott administering to his pleasures, beguiling his cares, and soothing 
his lonel}^ sorrows ? " — Irving. 

Sir Walter Scott, the great Scotch poet and novehst, 
was born in Edinburgh in 1771, and was educated at the 
high school and university of his native city. He studied 
for the law, became an advocate, was appointed sheriff of 
Selkirkshire, and settled with his wife at the farmhouse 
in Ashestiel. But his heart was not in his profession. 
From his very childhood he had been passionately fond of 
stories, especially those which referred to ''the brave davs 
of old." One day, when about thirteen, he got possession 
of ''Percy's Reliques," and became so absorbed in the 
stirrins: old ballads that he foro;ot to eat his dinner. His 
frequent visits to the banks of the Tweed, with their old 
castles and crumbling abbeys so full of interesting mem- 
ories, increased still more his ardent affection for the 
times gone by. The results began to show themselves 
in the romantic poems which he began to publish in 
1805. 

Scott's three great poems are "The Lay of the Last 
Minstrel," "Marmion," and "The Lady of the Lake." The 
first of these illustrates "the customs and manners which 



S/J^ WALTER SCOTT. 



245 



anciently prevailed on the borders of England and Scot- 
land." It is full of incidents, tournaments, raids, midnight 
expeditions, etc. *'Marmion " is a romantic tale of Flodden 
field. ''The Lady of the Lake " tells us of a king who, in 
disguise, traversing the Highlands in the neighborhood of 
Loch Katrine, missed his way, and met with several adven- 
tures which the poet de- 
scribes with telling effect. 
The story, however, was in- 
tended by Scott to be a mere 
thread of interest in a poem 
which was wTitten to illus- 
trate life and scenery in the 
Scottish Highlands. These 
poems are written after the 
fashion of the old metrical 
romances, and are remark- 
able for freshness of thought, 
vividness of description, and 
animation of style. They 
were very popular, and the 

author would have been considered a famous man if he 
never had written anything but poetry. 

In 1814 Scott issued '' Waverley," the first novel of the 
series which bears its name. It was published anony- 
mously. Scott, having gained a great name as a poet, was 
not sure that he would be equally successful as a novelist, 
and so withheld his name till he saw how '^ Waverley " was 
received by the public. The book w^as an extraordinary 
success ; and, as novel after novel made its appearance, 
the people were delighted, and the critics were enthusias- 
tic in their praise. 




SIR WALTER SCOTT. 



246 F/J^ST STEPS A\' EXGLISH CLASSICS. 

It is unnecessary to enter into any description of works 
so widely known. Of the illustrious novelist it has been 
well remarked, that he "revived the glories of past ages ; 

illustrated the landscape and the history of his native 
country ; painted the triumphs of patriotism and virtue, 
and the meanness and misery of vice ; awakened our best 
and kindliest feelings in favor of suffering and erring 
humanity, — of the low-born and the persecuted, the peas- 
ant, the beggar, and the Jew. He has furnished an intel- 
lectual banquet as rich as it is various and picturesque, 
from his curious learning, extensive observation,, forgotten 
manners, and decaying superstitions, — the whole embel- 
lished with the lights of a vivid imagination,, and a correct 
and gracefully regulated taste." In the number and 
variety of his conceptions and characters, he ranks as 
one of the greatest masters of fiction. 

With the money wliich his works produced, and other 
funds which he expected to earn, Scott erected the grand 
Gothic mansion of Abbotsford, furnished it after the 
fashion of feudal days, and lived in it like a knight of the 
olden time. From the o'overnment of the dav he received 
a baronetcy. His life at Abbotsford was of the most 
pleasant kind. Here he delighted to meet and entertain 
his friends, " singing ballads and sounding pibrochs amidst 
the clinking of glasses ; holding gay hunting-parties, where 
yeomen and gentlemen rode side by side ; and encouraging 
lively dances, where the lord was not ashamed to give his 
hand to the miller's daughter." In order to keep up this 
grand style, he had secretly gone into partnership with his 
publishers. Unexpectedly the firm failed, and Scott found 
himself burdened at the age of fifty-five with a deb: of 
a hundred and seventeen thousand pounds. But he was 



S/J^ WALTER SCOTT. 247 

honest and courageous ; and so, setting to work on the 
very day of the failure, he managed in four years to clear 
away seventy thousand pounds ; and he would have wrought 
on, but his health broke down under such excessive labor, 
and he was sent to Italy. After some time spent in that 
country, he became worse, and returned home to Abbots- 
ford, where he died in 1832. 

Scott was tall and striking in figure, stout and welh 
made. He was crippled in one foot, which made him walk 
very lame. His forehead was high, his nose short, and his 
upper lip long. His complexion was fresh and clear; his 
eyes very blue, shrewd and penetrating. His smile was 
uncommonly sweet and winning. 



JEANIE DEANS PLEADING FOR HER SISTER'S 

LIFE. 

[From The Heart of Mid Lothian, chap, xxxvi.] 

The Queen seemed to acquiesce, and the duke made a signal 
for Jeanie to advance from the spot where she had hitherto 
remained watching countenances, which were too long accustomed 
to suppress all apparent signs of emotion^ to convey to her any 
interesting intelligence. Her Majesty could not help smiling at 
the awe-struck manner in which the quiet, demure figure of the 
little Scotchwoman advanced towards her, and yet more at the first 
sound of her broad Northern accent. But Jeanie had a voice low 
and sweetly toned, — an admirable thing in woman, — and she 
besought ^^her Leddyship to have pity on a poor misguided young 
creature/' in tones so affecting, that, like the notes of some of her 
native songs, provincial vulgarity was lost in pathos. 



248 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

"Stand up, young woman/' said the Queen, but in a kind tone, 
" and tell me what sort of a barbarous people your country-folk 
are, where child-murder is become so common as to require the 
restraint of laws like yours." 

"If your Leddyship pleases," answered Jeanie, "there are mony 
places besides Scotland where mothers are unkind to their ain flesh 
and blood." 

It must be observed that the disputes between George the 
Second and Frederick Prince of Wales were then at the highest, 
and that the good-natured part of the public laid the blame on 
the Queen. She colored highly, and darted a glance of a most 
penetrating character first at Jeanie, and then at the duke. Both 
sustained it unmoved ; Jeanie from total unconsciousness of the 
offence she had given, and the duke from his habitual composure. 
But in his heart he thought, " My unlucky pi^otegee has with this 
luckless answer shot dead, by a kind of chance medley, her only 
hope of success." 

Lady Suffolk good-humoredly and skilfully interposed in this 
awkward crisis. "You should tell this lady," she said to Jeanie, "the 
particular causes which render this crime common in your country." 

" Some thinks it's the Kirk-session — that is — it's the — it's the 
cutty-stool, if your Leddyship pleases," said Jeanie, looking down 
and courtesying. 

■ "The what?" said Lady Suffolk, to whom the phrase was new, 
and who besides was rather deaf. 

" That's the stool of repentance, madam, if it please your Leddy- 
ship," answered Jeanie, "for light life and conversation, and for 
breaking the seventh command." Here she raised her eyes to the 
duke, saw his hand at his chin, and, totally unconscious of what 
she had said out of joint, gave double effect to the innuendo, by 
stopping short and looking embarrassed. 

As for Lady Suffolk, she retired like a covering party, which, 
having interposed betwixt their retreating friends and the enemy, 
have suddenly drawn on themselves a fire unexpectedly severe. 



SI7^ WALTER SCOTT. 249 

'•'The deuce take the lass," thought the Duke of Argyle to him- 
self; "there goes another shot, and she has hit with both barrels 
right and left ! " 

Indeed, the duke had himself his share of the confusion ; for, 
having acted as master of ceremonies to this innocent offender, he 
felt much in the circumstances of a country squire, who, having 
introduced his spaniel into a well-appointed drawing-room, is 
doomed to witness the disorder and damage which arises to china 
and to dress-gowns in consequence of its untimely frolics. Jeanie's 
last chance -hit, however, obliterated the ill impression which had 
arisen from the first ; for her Majesty had not so lost the feelings 
of a wife in those of a Queen, but that she could enjoy a jest at 
the expense of '-'her good Suffolk." She turned towards the Duke 
of Argyle with a smile, which marked that she enjoyed the triumph, 
and observed, "The Scotch are a rigidly moral people." Then, 
again applying herself to Jeanie, she asked how she travelled up 
from Scotland. 

"Upon my foot mostly, madam," was the reply. 

"What, all that immense way upon foot? How far can you 
walk in a day?" 

" Five-and-twenty miles, and a bittock." 

"And a what?" said the Queen, looking towards the Duke of 
Argyle. 

"And about five miles more," replied the duke. 

"I thought I was a good walker," said the Queen, "but this 
shames me sadly." 

" May your Leddyship never hae sae weary a heart, that ye 
canna be sensible of the weariness of the limbs," said Jeanie. 

"That came better off," thought the duke : "it's the first thing 
she has said to the purpose." 

" And I didna just a'thegither walk the haill way neither, for I had 
whiles the cast of a cart ; and I had the cast of a horse from Ferry- 
bridge, and divers other easements," said Jeanie, cutting short her 
story, for she observed the duke made the sign he had fixed upon. 



250 FIRST STEPS TV EXGTISH CTASSICS. 

^•'With all these accommodations.;' answered the Queen, "vot^ 
must have had a \-ery fatiguing journey, and I fear to little pur- 
pose : since, if the King were to pardon your sister, in all prob- 
ability it wotild do her little good, for I suppose your people of 
Edinburgh would hang her out of spite." 

^' She will sink herself now outright," thought the duke. 

But he was wrong. The shoals on which Jeanie had touched 
in this delicate conversation lay imder ground, and were unknown 
lo her : this rock was above water, and she avoided it. 

'She was confident," she said, "that baith town and countr}' 
wad rejoice to see his ^Majesty taking compassion on a poor un- 
friended creature"." 

'"His Majesty has not found it so in a late instance. "^ said 
the Queen ; " but I suppose my lord duke would advise him to 
be guided by the votes of the rabble themselves, who should be 
hanged and who spared?" 

"No, madam," said the duke : *• bur I would advise his Maiesty 
to be guided by his own feelinrs. a::d rar^e :f !::s royal ::as:r:. 
and then I am sure punishment v,:ll r^ly a::a^a i:-ra ro ;^a:l:. and 
even then with cautious reluctance." 

* Well, my lord," said her Ma e :y. all these aae speeches do 
not convince me of the propriety o: so sooa -a: .h.a any mark oi 
favor to your — I suppose I must not say :r rh.ra?? — bar. at 
least, your very disaffected and intracta:le a.-rr:^: :h^. V\\y, rhe 
whole nation is a: a leaaae r:- screea rhe -a.a.r :aa al::aria:.l:le 
murderers of thar aah^a^:y area ; crarrvi^c. he-v :^ u possialc hat 
that, of so many perpetrator?, aa 1 engaged in so public an action 
for such a length of time, one ar l^a-r must have been recognized? 
Even this wench, for aught I can :cb, may be a depositary of the 
secret. — Hark you, young woman, had you any friends engaged 
in the Porteous mob? " 

" No, madam," answered Jeanie. happy that the question was 
so framed that she could, with a good conscience, answer it in the 



SI/^ WALTER SCOTT, 251 

"But I suppose," continued the Queen, "if you were possessed 
of such a secret, you would hold it a matter of conscience to keep 
it to yourself? " 

" I would pray to be directed and guided what was the line of 
duty, madam," answered Jeanie. 

"Yes, and take that which suited your own inclinations," replied 
her Majesty. 

" If it like you, madam," said Jeanie, " I would hae gaen to 
the end of the earth to save the life of John Porteous, or any 
other unhappy man in his condition ; but I might lawfully doubt 
how far I am called upon to be the avenger of his blood, though 
it may become the civil magistrate to do so. He is dead and 
gane to his place, and they that have slain him must answer for 
their ain act. But my sister, my puir sister, Effie, still lives, though 
her days and hours are numbered ! She still lives, and a word of 
the King's mouth might restore her to a broken-hearted auld man, 
that never in his daily and nightly exercise forgot to pray that his 
Majesty might be blessed with a long and a prosperous reign, and 
that his throne, and the throne of his posterity, might be estab- 
lished in righteousness. O madam, if ever ye kend what it was to 
sorrow for and with a sinning and a suffering creature, whose mind 
is sae tossed that she can be neither ca'd fit to live or die, have 
some compassion on our misery ! Save an honest house from 
dishonor, and an unhappy girl, not eighteen years of age, from an 
early and dreadful death ! Alas ! it is not when we sleep soft and 
wake merrily ourselves, that we think on other people's sufferings. 
Our hearts are waxed light within us then, and we are for righting 
our ain wrongs and fighting our ain battles. But when the hour 
of trouble comes to the mind or to the body, — and seldom may 
it visit your Leddyship, — and when the hour of death comes, that 
comes to high and low — lang and late may it be yours, — oh, my 
Leddy ! then it isna what we hae dune for ourselves, but what we 
hae dune for others, that we think on maist pleasantly. And the 
thoughts that ye hae intervened to spare the puir thing's life, will 



252 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

be sweeter in that hour, come when it may, than if a word of your 
mouth could hang the haill Porteous mob at the tail of ae tow." 

Tear followed tear down Jeanie's cheeks, as, her features glow- 
ing and quivering with emotion, she pleaded her sister's cause with 
a pathos which was at once simple and solemn. 

^'This is eloquence," said her Majesty to the Duke of Argyle. 
'^ Young woman," she continued, addressing herself to Jeanie, 
"I cannot grant a pardon to your sister ; but you shall not want 
my warm intercession with his Majesty. Take this housewife 
case," she continued, putting a small embroidered needle-case into 
Jeanie's hands ; '^ do not open it now, but at yout leisure, you will 
find something in it which will remind you that you have had an 
interview with Queen Carohne." 

Jeanie, having her suspicions thus confirmed, dropped on her 
knees, and would have expanded herself in gratitude ; but the 
duke, who was upon thorns lest she should say more or less than 
just enough, touched his chin once more. 

" Our business is, I think, ended for the present, my lord duke," 
said the Queen, ^^and, I trusty to your satisfaction. Hereafter I 
hope to see your grace more frequently, both at Richmond and 
St. James's. — Come, Lady Suffolk, we must wish his grace good- 
morning." 

They exchanged their parting reverences, and the duke, so soon 
as the ladies had turned their backs, assisted Jeanie to rise from 
the ground, and conducted her back through the avenue, which 
she trod with the feeling of one who walks in her sleep. 



S/J^ WALTER SCOTT, 253 



THE ESCAPE ON THE CLIFFS. 

[From The Antiquary, chap. vii.J 

They were now near the centre of a deep but narrow bay, or 
recess, formed by two projecting capes of high and inaccessible 
rock, which shot out into the sea hke the horns of a crescent ; 
and neither durst communicate the apprehension which each be- 
gan to entertain, that, from the unusually rapid advance of the tide, 
they might be deprived of the power of proceeding by doubling 
the promontory which lay before them, or of retreating by the 
road which brought them thither. 

As they pressed forward, longing doubtless to exchange the 
easy curving line, which the sinuosities of the bay compelled them 
to adopt, for a straighter and more expeditious path, though less 
conformable to the line of beauty. Sir Arthur observed a human 
figure on the beach advancing to meet them. ^' Thank God ! " 
he exclaimed, " we shall get round Halket-head ! that person must 
have passed it ; " thus giving vent to the feeling of hope, though 
he had suppressed that of apprehension. 

"Thank God indeed ! " echoed his daughter, half audibly, half 
internally, as if expressing the gratitude which she strongly felt. 

The figure which advanced to meet them made many signs, 
which the haze of the atmosphere, now disturbed by wind and by 
a drizzling rain, prevented them from seeing or comprehending 
distinctly. Some time before they met, Sir x\rthur could recognize 
the old blue-gowned beggar, Edie Ochiltree. It is said that even 
the brute creation lay aside their animosities and antipathies when 
pressed by an instant and common danger. The beach under 
Halket-head, rapidly diminishing in extent by the encroachments 
of the spring- tide and a north-west wind, was in like manner a 
neutral field, where even a justice of peace and a strolling mendi- 
cant might meet upon terms of mutual forbearance. 



254 I^/J^ST STEFS /A' EXGLISH CLASSICS. 

" Turn back ! turn back ! " exclaimed the vagrant ; '' why did 
ye not turn when I waved to you ? " 

"We thought^" replied Sir Arthur in great agitation, * we 
thought we could get round Halket-head." 

" Halket-head ! the tide will be running on Halket-head b\ this 
time like the Fall of Fyers ! It was a' I could do to get round it 
twenty minutes since ; it was coming in three feet abreast. We \^-ill 
maybe get back by Bally-burgh Ness Point yet. The Lord help 
us ! it's our only chance. We can but tr\ .'' 

" My God, my child ! " — '* My father, my dear father ! ' ex- 
claimed the parent and daughter^ as, fear lending them strength 
and speed, they turned to retrace their steps, and endeavored to 
double the point, the projection of which formed the southern 
extremity of the bay. 

*' I heard ye were here^ irae the bit caiianr ye sent to meet your 
carriage," said the beggar, as he trudged stoutly on a step or two 
behind Miss Wardour, " and I couldna bide to think o' the dainty- 
young leddy's peril, that has aye been kind to ilka forlorn heart 
that cam near her. Sae I lookit at the hit and the rin o* the tide, 
till I settled it that if I could get down time enough to gie you 
warning, we wad do weel yet. But I doubt, I (Joubt, I have been 
beguiled, for what mortal ee ever saw sic a race as the tide is rin- 
ning e'en now? See, yonder's the Ratton*s Skeary — he aye held 
his neb abime the water in ray day — but he's aneath it now." 

Sir Arthur cast a look in the direction in which the old man 
pointed. A huge rock, which in general, even in spring-tides dis- 
played a hulk Kke the keel of a large vessel, was now quite under 
water, and its place only indicated by the boiling and breaking of 
the eddying waves which encountered its submarine resistance. 

" Mak' haste, mak' haste, my bonny leddy/' continued the old 
man, ^' mak' haste, and we may do yet \ Take hand o' my arm — 
an auld and frail arm it's now, but it's been in as sair stress as 
this is yet Take hand o' my arm, my winsome leddy ! D' ye see 
yon wee black speck amang the wallowing waves yonder ? This 



S//^ WALTER SCOTT. 255 

morning it was as high as the mast o' a brig — it's sma' eneugh 
now — but, while I see as muckle black about it as the crown o' 
my hat, I winna believe but we'll get round the Bally-burgh Xess, 
for a' that's come and gane yet." 

Isabella, in silence, accepted from the old man the assistance 
which Sir Arthur was less able to aftbrd her. The waves had now 
encroached so much upon the beach, that the firm and smooth 
footing which they had hitherto had on the sand, must be ex- 
changed for a rougher path close to the foot of the precipice, and 
in some places even raised upon its lower ledges. It would have 
been utterly impossible for Sir Arthur Wardour and his daughter 
to have found their way along these shelves without the guidance 
and encouragement of the beggar, who had been there before in 
high tides, though never, he acknowledged, '• in sae awsome a night 
as this." 

It was indeed a dreadful evening. The howling of the storm 
mingled with the shrieks of the sea-fowl, and sounded like the 
dirge of the three devoted beings who, pent between two of 
the most magitificent yet most dreadful objects of nature — a 
raging tide and an insurmountable precipice — toiled along their 
painful and dangerous path, often lashed by the spray of some 
giant billow, which threw itself higher on the beach than those 
that had preceded it. Each minute did their enemy gain ground 
perceptibly upon them. Still, however, loath to relinquish the last 
hopes of life, they bent their eyes on the black rock pointed out 
by Ochiltree. It was yet distinctly visible among the breakers, and 
continued to be so, until they came to a turn in their precarious 
path, where an intervening projection of rock hid it from their 
sight. 

Deprived of the view of the beacon on which they had relied, 
they now experienced the double agony of terror and suspense. 
They struggled forward, however ; but when they arrived at the 
point from which they ought to have seen the crag, it was no longer 
visible. The signal of safety was lost among a thousand white 



256 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

breakers, which, dashing upon the point of the promontory, rose 
in prodigious sheets of snowy foam, as high as the mast of a first- 
rate man-of-war, against the dark brow of the precipice. 

The countenance of the old man fell. Isabella gave a faint 
shriek, and " God have mercy upon us ! " which her guide sol- 
emnly uttered, was piteously echoed by Sir Arthur — " My child ! 
my child ! — to die such a death ! " 

'' My father ! my dear father ! " his daughter exclaimed, cling- 
ing to him ; '' and you too, who have lost your own life in endeav- 
oring to save ours ! " 

'^ That's not worth the counting," said the old man. "I hae 
hved to be weary of Hfe ; and here or yonder — at the back o' a 
dyke, in a wreath o' snaw, or m the wame o' a wave, what signifies 
how the auld gaberlunzie dies? " 

^'Good man," said Sir Arthur, "can you think of nothing? — 
of no help ? I'll make you rich — I'll give you a farm — I'll " — 

"Our riches will be soon equal," said the beggar, looking out 
upon the strife of the water ; " they are sae already, for I hae nae 
land, and you would give your fair bounds and barony for a square 
yard of rock that would be dry for twal hours." 

While they exchanged these words, they paused upon the high- 
est ledge of rock to which they could attain ; for it seemed that 
any further attempt to move forward could only serve to anticipate 
their fate. Here, then, they were to await the sure though slow 
progress of the raging element, something in the situation of the 
martyrs of the early church, who, exposed by heathen tyrants to 
be slain by wild beasts, were compelled for a time to witness the 
impatience and rage by which the animals were agitated, while 
awaiting the signal for undoing their grates, and letting them loose 
upon the victims. 

Yet even this fearful pause gave Isabella time to collect the 
powers of a mind naturally strong and courageous, and which 
rallied itself at this terrible juncture. " Must we yield life," she 
said, " without a struggle ? Is there no path, however dreadful, by 



S/7^ WALTER SCOTT, 257 

which we could climb the crag, or at least attain some height 
above the tide, where w^e could remain till morning, or till help 
comes ? They must be aware of our situation, and will raise the 
country to relieve us." 

Sir Arthur, who heard, but scarcely comprehended, his daughter's 
question, turned, nevertheless, instinctively and eagerly to the old 
man, as if their lives were in his gift. Ochiltree paused. " I was 
a bauld craigsman," he said, '^ ance in my life, and mony a kitty- 
w^ake's and lungie's nest hae I harried up amang thae very black 
rocks ; but it's lang, lang syne, and nae mortal could speel them 
without a rope, — and if I had ane, my eesight, and my footstep, 
and my hand-grip, hae a' failed mony a day sinsyne, — and then 
how could I save yoic ? But there was a path here ance, though 
maybe, if we could see it, ye would rather bide where we are. 
His name be praised ! " he ejaculated suddenly, '' there's ane com- 
ing dow^n the crag e'en now ! " Then, exalting his voice, he 
hilloa'd out to the daring adventurer such instructions as his former 
practice, and the remembrance of local circumstances, suddenly 
forced upon his mind : '^ Ye're right, ye're right ! — that gate, that 
gate! — fasten the rope weel round Crummie's-horn ; that's the 
muckle black stane — cast twa plies round it — that's it ! — now, 
weize yoursel' a wee easel-ward — a wee mair yet to that ither 
stane — we ca'd it the Cat's-lug — there used to be the root o' an 
aik-tree there. That will do ! — canny now, lad ! canny now — 
tak' tent and tak' time — Lord bless ye ! tak' time. Very weel ! 
Now ye maun get to Bessy's Apron, that's the muckle braid flat 
blue stane ; and then I think, wi' your help and the two thegither, 
I'll win at ye, and then w^e'll be able to get up the young leddy 
and Sir Arthur." 

The adventurer, following the directions of old Edie, flung him 
down the end of the rope, which he secured around Miss Wardour, 
wrapping her previously in his own blue gown, to preserv^e her as 
much as possible from injury. Then, availing himself of the rope, 
which was made fast at the other end, he began to ascend the face 



25 8 FIRST STEPS TV EXGTISH CTASSICS. 

of the crag — a most precarious and dizzy undertaking, which, 
however, after one or two perilous escapes, placed him safe on the 
broad flat stone beside our friend Lovel. Their joint strength was 
able to raise Isabella to the place of safety which they had attained. 
Lovel then descended in order to assist Sir Arthur, around whom 
he adjusted the rope ; and again mounting to their place of refuge, 
with -the assistance of old Ochiltree, and such aid as Sir Arthur 
himself could afford, he raised himself beyond the reach of the 
billows. 

The sense of reprieve from approaching and apparently inev- 
itable death, had its usual effect. The father and daughter threw 
themselves into each other's arms, kissed, and wept for joy, al- 
though their escape was connected with the prospect of passing 
a tempestuous night upon a precipitous ledge of rock, which 
scarce afforded footing for the four shivering beings who now, like 
the sea-fowl around them, clung there in hopes of some shelter 
from the devouring element which raged beneath. The spray of 
the billows, w^hich attained in fearful succession the foot of the 
precipice, overflowing the beach on which they so lately stood, 
flew as high as their place of temporary refuge ; and the stunning 
sound with which they dashed against the rocks beneath, seemed 
as if they still demanded the fugitives, in accents of thunder, as 
their destined prey. 

It was a summer night doubtless ; yet the probability was slen- 
der that a frame so delicate as that of ^Nliss Wardour should sur\'ive 
till morning, the drenching of the spray, and the dashing of the 
rain, which now burst, in full violence, accompanied with deep and 
hea\w gusts of wind, added to the constrained and perilous cir- 
cumstances of their situation. 

"The lassie — the puir sweet lassie," said the old man ; " mony 
such a night have I weathered at hame and abroad, but God guide 
us, how can she ever win through it ! " 

His apprehension was communicated in smothered accents to 
Lovel : for, with the sort of freemasonry by which bold and ready 



S/J^ WALTER SCOTT. 259 

spirits correspond in moments of danger, and become almost in- 
stinctively known to each other^ they had estabhshed a mutual 
confidence. "I'll climb up the cliff again/' said Lovel, '^there's 
daylight enough left to see my footing ; I'H climb up and call for 
more assistance." 

'' Do so, do so, for Heaven's sake ! " said Sir Arthur, eagerly. 

^' Are ye mad? " said the mendicant ; '^ Francie o' Fowlsheugh, 
and he was the best craigsman that ever speel'd heugh (mair by 
token he brake his neck upon the Dunbuy of Slaines), wadna hae 
ventured upon the Halket-head craigs after sundown. It's God's 
grace, and a great wonder besides, that ye are not in the middle 
o' that roaring sea wi' what ye hae done already. I didna think 
there was the man left alive would hae come down the craigs as 
ye did. I question an' I could hae done it mysel', at this hour 
and in this weather, in the youngest and yaldest of my strength. 
But to venture up again, — it's a mere and a clear tempting of 
Providence." 

'' I have no fear," answered Lovel ; '' I marked all the stations 
perfectly as I came down, and there is still hght enough left to see 
them quite well ; I am sure I can do it with perfect safety. Stay 
here, my good friend, by Sir Arthur and the young lady." 

" Deil be in my feet then," answered the bedesman, sturdily, 
'' if ye gang, I'll gang too ; for between the twa o' us, we'll hae 
mair than wark eneugh to get to the tap o' the heugh." 

'' No, no ; stay you here and attend to Miss Wardour. You see 
Sir Arthur is quite exhausted." 

''Stay yoursel' then, and I'll gae," said the old man. ''Let 
death spare the green corn, and take the ripe." 

"Stay both of you, I charge you," said Isabella, faintly. "I 
am well, and can spend the night very well here ; I feel quite re- 
freshed." So saying, her voice failed her; she sank down, and 
would have fallen from the crag, had she not been supported by 
Lovel and Ochiltree, who placed her in a posture half sitting, half 
reclining, beside her father, who, exhausted by fatigue of body 



26o FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLAS.^ICS, 

and mind so extreme and unusual, had already sat down on a stone 
in a sort of stupor. 

^'It is impossible to leave them," said Lovel. ^^What is to be 
done? Hark ! hark ! Did I not hear a halloo? " 

'^ The skriegh of a Jammie Norie/' answered Ochiltree ; ^^ I ken 
the skirl week" 

'' No, by Heaven ! " rephed Lovel ; '^ it was a human voice." 

A distant hail was repeated, the sound plainly distinguishable 
among the various elemental noises, and the clang of the sea- 
mews by which they were surrounded. The mendicant and Lovel 
exerted their voices in a loud halloo, the former waving Miss War- 
dour's handkerchief on the end of his staff to make them con- 
spicuous from above. Though the shouts Avere repeated, it was 
some time before they were in exact response to their own. leaving 
the unfortunate sufferers uncertain whether, in the darkening twi- 
light and increasing storm, they had made the persons, who appar- 
ently were traversing the verge of the precipice to bring them 
assistance, sensible of the place in which they had found refuge. 
At length their halloo was regularly and distinctly answered, and 
their courage confirmed, by the assurance that they were within 
hearing, if not within reach, of friendly assistance. 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 26 1 



CHAPTER XVII. 

ALFRED TENNYSON (1809-1892). 

" Not of the howling dervishes of song, 
Who craze the brain with their delirious dance, 

Art thou, O sweet historian of tlic heart ! 
Therefore to thee the laurel leaves belong, 
To thee our love and our allegiance, 

For thy allegiance to the poet's art." — Longfellow. 

Alfred Tennyson, one of the greatest poets of our 
times, was born in 1809 at Somersby, in Lincolnshire, 
England, of which place his fathel:* was rector. He was 
the third of a large family, several other members of which 
shared with him in some measure the genius which has 
won for him his undisputed rank as the first English poet 
of his time. While a student at Trinity College, Cam- 
bridge, in 1829, Tennyson gained the chancellor's medal 
by a poem in blank verse, entitled '' Timbuctoo," in which 
there is plainly to be seen some impress of his peculiar 
genius. His literary career, however, may properly be 
said to date from 1830, in which year a volume appeared 
called ''Poems, chiefly Lyrical." It contained many ex- 
quisite pieces, and clearly marked the advent of a true poet : 
yet it was not received with great favor by the public. 

Three years afterward another volume made its appear- 
ance ; and it too, though rich in poetic thought, failed to 
awaken public interest, and received unkindly criticism at 



FIRST STEPS TV EXGLISH CLASSICS. 



the hands of the reviewers. For nine years thereafter the 
world heard nothing of Tennyson. In 1842, however, a 
third effort was made to win favor by the publication of 
two volumes of poems. The effort was successful, the 
path to fame and forturr pen before him; and to the 

encouragement he thei: e:^ we are largely indebted 

for the splendid poems h / e since proceeded from 
his pen. Onward from this time the reputation of the 

poet slowly but sure ex- 
tended itself. In 1847 ap- 
peared *' The Princess, a 
Medley;" and in 1850, "In 
]\Iemoriam," a tribute of af- 
fection to the memory of 
Arthur Hallam, the chosen 
friend of the poet in his 
earlier years at Cambridge, 
On the death of Words- 
worth, in 1850, Tennyson 
succeeded him as poet- 
laureate. In 1855 a :::e:ired 
" Maud, and other ^of:\\-'' 
which added nothing to tiie 
poet's fame. '' The Idylls of :::e Ki _. ublished in 1859. 
was everywhere received with enthusiasm. These poems 
at once took rank as some of the noblest in our language. 
In 1864 Tennyson published a volume containing "Enoch 
Arden," one of his most finished and successful works ; 
"Aylmer's Field;" a short piece, " Tithonus," remarkable 
for its beauty and finish. "The Holy Grail," and other 
poem s^ appeared in 1870; and in 1 872, " The Tournament/ 
and "Gareth and Lynette. During the period from 1869 




ALFRED TENXYSON. 263 

to 1872, the second series of the ''' Idvlls of the Kins; " was 
published. In 1875 Tennyson published a drama called 
'' Queen ?^Iary ; " two years later, '' The Lover's Tale," be- 
gun, and a fragment printed, in 1833, and a second drama 
entitled ^'Harold." ''Ballads" appeared in 1880, after 
which time until his death the poet-laureate made occa- 
sional contributions to the leading periodicals. 

Tennyson's poetry is pure, tender, ennobling. No blot, 
no stain, mars its beauty. His verse is the most faultless 
in our language, both as regards the music of its flow, and 
the art displayed in the choice of words. As a painter, 
no modern poet has equalled him. His portraits and 
ideas of women are the most delicate in the whole range 
of English poetry. His language, although consisting for 
the most part of strong and pithy Saxon words, is yet the 
very perfection of all that is elegant and musical in the art 
of versification. The pleasure which his poetry gives 
springs largely from the cordial interest he displays m the 
life and pursuits of men, in his capacity for apprehending 
their higher and more beautiful aspirations, and in a cer- 
tain purity and strength of spiritual feeling. 

Caroline Fox, in her ''Memories of Old Friends," says 
that "Tennyson is a grand specimen of a man, with a 
magnificent head set on his shoulders, like the capital of 
a mighty pillar. His hair is long and wavy, and covers a 
massive head. He wears a beard and mustache, which one 
begrudges as hiding so much of that firm, powerful, but 
finely chiselled mouth. His eyes are large and gray, and 
open wide when a subject interests him ; they are well 
shaded by the noble brow, with its strong lines of thought 
and suffering." 



264 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 



ULYSSES. 

By Lis s::k : cir: :, :i :: : ::^ : r^c : j^rren crags. 

Matched with an aged wife, I mete and dole 

U::e : al laws unto a savage race, 

T::i: " o^rd and sleep and feed, and know not me. 5 

I c: : est from travel : I will drink 

Life :■:> :he lees. All times I have e:v:y-f 

Greariy. ::3.v- -\:rrrr ;' ^eatly, bo:': '^ \ : ^e 

T::a: iove:! :::r. :.:: f :.Lae : ons:::rr, _ _„., '..:en 

T::r :^ : cudding drifts the rainy Hyades i« 

Vexe : : :r :: : sea, I am becone :-. ::i:Tie : 

F:r. a v: - r: r^ in g with a hungry iiccirij 

M ::: :: e I srr:: and known, — cities of men. 

Ana raa : :r: . climates, councils, governments 

( Mysr,: : 'at. but honored of them all), — 15 

.\nc ara::K : ra^a: of batde with my peers 

Far i the ringing plains of windy Troy. 

I a 11 a part of all that I have aae: : 

Ye: a 1 ex]>erience is an arch a r :hro' 

GLaa- :aat untravelled worl / : c :aa:_^^aa ::des -~ 

Forever and forever when I move. 

Ho vv dull it is to pause, to make an end. 

To r ast unbinnished, not to shine in use ! 

As though to breathe were life. Life piled on life 

Were a ::o Uttle, and of onr : aae ^5 

Li: r : aai:^- : but every hoar i- a ed 

Fr a: :aa: :r:nal silence, — ::: :a:a^ a: re, 

A : ri:rger of new things ; and vile it were 

F :r some three suns to store and hoard myself. 

And tiiis gray spirit yearning in desire T 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 265 

To follow knowledge, like a sinking star, 
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. 

This is my son, mine own Telemachus, 
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle, — 
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil 35 

This labor, by slow prudence to make mild 
A rugged people, and through soft degrees 
Subdue them to the useful and the good. 
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere 
Of common duties, decent not to fail 4° 

In offices of tenderness, and pay 
Meet adoration to my household gods, 
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine. 

There hes the port ; the vessel puffs her sail ; 
There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners, 45 

Souls that have toiled and wrought and thought with me, 
That ever with a frolic welcome took 
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed 
Free hearts, free foreheads, — you and I are old. 
Old age hath yet his honor and his toil. 5° 

Death closes all ; but something ere the end. 
Some work of noble note, may yet be done, 
Not unbecoming men that strove with gods. 
The hghts begin to twinkle from the rocks ; 
The long day wanes ; the slow moon climbs j the deep 55 
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, 
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world. 
Push off, and, sitting well in order, smite 
The sounding furrows ; for my purpose holds 
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths 6° 

Of all the western stars, until I die. 
It may be that the gulfs will w^ash us down ; 
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, 
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew. 



266 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

Though much is taken, much abides ; and though 6; 

We are not now that strength which in old days 

Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are : 

One equal temper of heroic hearts, 

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will 

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield, 7^ 



SIR GALAHAD. 

My good blade carves the casques of men, 

My tough lance thrusteth sure. 
My strength is as the strength of ten. 

Because my heart is pure. 
The shattering trumpet shrilleth high. 

The hard brands shiver on the steel. 
The splintered spear-shafts crack and fly. 

The horse and rider reel : 
They reel, they roll in clanging lists, 

And when the tide of combat stands. 
Perfume and flowers fall in showers. 

That lightly rain from ladies' hands. 

How sweet are looks that ladies bend 

On whom their favors fall ! 
For them I battle till the end, 

To save from shame and thrall ; 
But all my heart is drawn above. 

My knees are bowed in crypt and shrine ; 
I never felt the kiss of love. 

Nor maiden's hand in mine. 
More bounteous aspects on me beam. 

Me mightier transports move and thrill ; 
So keep I fair through faith and prayer 

A virgin heart in work and will. 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 267 

When down the stormy crescent goes, 2^ 

A Hght before me swims. 
Between dark stems the forest glows, 

I hear a noise of hymns ; 
Then by some secret shrine I ride ; 

I hear a voice, but none are there ; 3° 

The stalls are void, the doors are wide. 

The tapers burning fair. 
Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth, 

The silver vessels sparkle clean. 
The shrill bell rings, the censer swings, 35 

And solemn chants resound between. 

Sometimes on lonely mountain- meres 

I find a magic bark ; 
I leap on board ; no helmsman steers ; 

I float till all is dark. 4° 

A gentle sound, an awful light ! 

Three angels bear the holy Grail : 
With folded feet, in stoles of white, 

On sleeping wings they sail. 
Ah, blessed vision ! blood of God ! 45 

My spirit beats her mortal bars, 
As down dark tides the glory slides, 

And star-like mingles with the stars. 

When on my goodly charger borne 

Through dreaming towns I go, S*^ 

The cock crows ere the Christmas morn. 

The streets are dumb with snow. 
The tempest crackles on the leads. 

And, ringing, springs from brand and mail ; 
But o'er the dark a glory spreads, 55 

And gilds the driving hail. 



268 FIRST STEPS IX EXGLISH CLASSICS. 

I leave the plain. I climb the height ; 

No branchv thicket shelter yields : 
But blessed forms in whistling storms 

Fly o'er waste fens and windy lields. ^^ 

A maiden knight — to me is given 

Such hope. I know not fear ; 
I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven 

That often meet me here. 
I muse on joy that will not cease. ^5 

Pure spaces clothed m hving beams, 
Pure lilies of eternal peace, 

Whose odors haunt my dreams \ 
And. stricken by an angel's hand, 

This mortal armor that I vrear, 7o 

This weight and size, this heart and eyes, 

Are touched, are turned to finest air. 

The clouds are broken in the sky, 

And through the mountain walls 
A rolling organ-harmony 75 

Swells up, and shakes and falls. 
Then move the trees, the copses nod, 

Wings flutter, voices hover clear : 
'' O just and faithful knight of God ! 

Ride on I the prize is near." ^° 

So pass I hostel, hall, and grange ; 

By bridge and ford, by park and pale, 
All armed I ride, whatever betide, 

Until I find the Holy Grail. 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 269 



THE LOTUS-EATERS. 

'* Courage ! " he said, and pointed toward the land, 

"This mounting wave wdll roll us shoreward soon." 

In the afternoon they came unto a land 

In which it seemed always afternoon. 

All round the coast the languid air did swoon, 5 

Breathing like one that hath a weary dream. 

Full-faced above the valley stood the moon ; 

And like a downward smoke, the slender stream 

Along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem. 

A land of streams ! some, like a downward smoke, 10 

Slow-dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go ; 

And some thro' wavering lights and shadows broke, 

Rolling a slumbrous sheet of foam below. 

They saw the gleaming river seaward flow 

Fj'om the inner land : far off, three mountain-tops, 15 

Three silent pinnacles of aged snow. 

Stood sunset-flush'd ; and, dew'd with showery drops, 

Up-clomb the shadowy pine above the woven copse. 

The charmed sunset linger'd low adown 

In the red West : thro' mountain clefts the dale 20 

Was seen far inland, and the yellow down 

Border'd with palm, and many a winding vale 

And meadow, set with slender galingale ; 

A land where all things always seemed the same ! 

And round about the keel with faces pale, 25 

Dark faces pale against that rosy flame, 

The mild-eyed melancholy Lotus-eaters came. 



2 JO FIRST STEPS TV EXGTISH CTASSICS. 

Branches they bore of that enchanted stem, 

Laden with flower and fruit, whereof they gave 

To each, but whoso did receive of them, 30 

And taste, to him the gushing of the wave 

Far, far away did seem to mourn and rave 

On alien shores ; and if his fellow spake, 

His voice was thin, as voices from the grave : 

And deep-asleep he seem'd, yet all awake, 35 

And music in his ears his beating heart did make. 

They sat them down upon the yellow sand. 

Between the sun and moon upon the shore ; 

And sweet it was to dream of Fatherland, 

Of child, and wife, and slave ; but evermore 40 

Most weary seem'd the sea, wearj' the oar. 

Wear}" the wandering fields of barren foam. 

Then some one said, *^ We will return no more ; '' 

And all at once they sang, " Our island home 

Is far beyond the w^ave ; we will no longer roam.'' 45 

Choric Soxg. 

I. 
There is sweet music here that softer falls 
Than petals from blow n roses on the grass. 
Or night-dews on still waters between walls 
Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass ; 

Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, 50 

Than tir'd eyelids upon tir d eyes ; 

Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. 
Here are cool mosses deep, 
And thro' the moss the i\aes creep, 

And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep, 55 

And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep. 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 27 1 

II. 

Why are we weigh'd upon with heaviness, 

And utterly consumed with sharp distress, 

While all things else have rest from weariness? 

All things have rest : why should we toil alone, 60 

We only toil, who are the first of things, 

And make perpetual moan, 

Still from one sorrow to another thrown : 

Nor ever fold our wings, 

And cease from wanderings, 65 

Nor steep our brows in slumber's holy balm ; 

Nor harken what the inner spirit sings, 

'* There is no joy but calm ! " 

Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things ? 

III. 

Lo ! in the middle of the wood, 70 

The folded leaf is woo'd from out the bud 

With Avinds upon the branch, and there 

Grows green and broad, and takes no care, 

Sun-steep'd at noon, and in the moon 

Nightly dew-fed ; and turning yellow 75 

Falls, and floats adown the air. 

Lo ! sweeten'd with the summer light. 

The full- juiced apple, waxing over-mellow, 

Drops in a silent autumn night. 

All its allotted length of days, 80 

The flower ripens in its place, 

Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil, 

Fast-rooted in the fruitful soil. 

IV. 

Hateful is the dark-blue sky. 

Vaulted o'er the dark-blue sea. 85 



2^/2 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS, 

Death is the end of life ; ah, why 

Should life all labor be ? 

Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast, 

And in a little wdrile our lips are dumb. 

Let us alone. What is it that will last ? 90 

All things are taken from uS; and become 

Portions and parcels of the dreadful Past. 

Let us alone. What pleasure can w^e have 

To w^ar wdth evil ? Is there any peace 

In ever climbing up the climbing w^ave ? 95 

AH things have rest, and ripen toward the grave 

In silence ; ripen, fall and cease : 

Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease. 

V. 

How^ sweet it w^ere, hearing the downw^ard stream 

With half-shut eyes ever to seem 100 

Falling asleep in a half-dream ! 

To dream and dream, like yonder amber light. 

Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height ; 

To hear each other's w^hisper'd speech ; 

Eating the Lotus day by day, , 105 

To watch the crisping ripples on the beach. 

And tender curving lines of creamy spray ; 

To lend our hearts and spirits w^holly 

To the influence of mild-minded melancholv : 

To muse and brood and live again in memory, no 

With those old faces of our infancy 

Heap'd over with a mound of grass, 

Two handfuls of white dust, shut in an urn of brass ! 

VI. 

Dear is the memory of our w^edded lives, 

And dear the last embraces of our waves 115 

And their warm tears : but all hath suffer'd change : 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 2/3 

For surely now our household hearths are cold : 

Our sons inherit us : our looks are strange : 

And we should come like ghosts to trouble joy. 

Or else the island princes over-bold 120 

Have eat our substance, and the minstrel sings 

Before them of the ten years' war in Troy, 

And our great deeds, as half -forgotten things. 

Is there confusion in the little isle ? 

Let what is broken so remain. 125 

The Gods are hard to reconcile ; 

'Tis hard to settle order once again. 

There is confusion worse than death, 

Trouble on trouble, pain on pain. 

Long labor unto aged breath, 130 

Sore task to hearts worn out by many wars. 

And eyes grown dim with gazing on the pilot-stars. 

VII. 

But, propt on beds of amaranth and moly, 

How sweet (while warm airs lull us, blowing lowly) 

With half-dropt eyelid still, 135 

Beneath a heaven dark and holy. 

To watch the long bright river drawing slowly 

His waters from the purple hill — 

To hear the dewy echoes calling 

From cave to cave thro' the thick-twined vine — 140 

To watch the emerald-color'd water falling 

Thro' many a wov'n acanthus-wreath divine ! 

Only to hear and see the far-off sparkling brine, 

Only to hear were sweet, stretch'd out beneath the pine. 

VIII. 

The Lotus blooms below the barren peak : 145 

The Lotus blows by every winding creek : 



:;^ r/^ST steps i^r engush classics. 

All day tiie wind breathes low with mellower tone : 

Thro" eveiy hollow cave and alley lone 

Round and round the spicy downs the yellow Lotus-dust is 

blown. 
We have had enough of addon, and of motion we, 15 a 

Roll'd to starboard, rolled to larboard, when the surge was 

seething free. 
Where the wallowing -7-5:-: 5;: ^t:! his f : -.-f : .::-- i^s :- 

the sea- 
Let us swear an oathy : TT T 
In the hollow Lotus-la. r. ; . : : ':/-- :.- : t : . . _ : t ; 
On ti^e hills like Gods : _ t : _ _ t . : : - . ^ ^ ~ ; : . v. 1 5 f 
J : ey lie beside th-: 
J them in the 
3 r r^lden he 
''.'::t:t :i:T_- -:iLileinsr. 
Z r : and famine, pi: 

~-r";T sands, :^o 

,lZ:.._-:._^ -Tilts, and rl:..z:.:r.^- ::,^ois, and smking shi^ii. ir.d 

, hands. 
~i .-. T ^y fed a music centred in a doleful song 

- - _ T-tation and an ancient tale of wrong. 

It '.:..- : T raning tho' the words are strong ; 
Chanted from an ill-used race of men that cleave the soil, 165 
Sow the seed, and reap the harvest with enduring toil. 
Storing yearly little dues of wlieat, and wine and oil ; 
Till they perish and they siZier — 5 :me, 'tis whisper d — down 

iu hell 
Suffer endless anguish, others in Eysian valleys dwell. 
Resting weary limbs at last on beds of asphodel- ir- 

:^ ::r_T. smrelv, slumber is more sweet than toil^ the shore 
Than labor in the deep mid-ocean, wind and wave and oar ; 
Oh rest ve. brother iBarinersw we will not wander more. 



.tt::s and 



ALFRED TENNYSON, 275 



MORTE D'ARTHUR. 

So all day long the noise of battle roll'd 

Among the mountains by the winter sea ; 

Until King Arthur's table, man by man, 

Had fallen in Lyonnesse about their Lord, 

King Arthur : then, because his wound was deep, 5 

The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him, 

Sir Bedivere, the last of all his knights, 

iVnd bore him to a chapel nigh the field, 

A broken chancel with a broken cross, 

That stood on a dark strait of barren land. 10 

On one side lay the Ocean, and on one 

Lay a great water, and the moon was full. 

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere: 
" The sequel of to-day unsolders all 

The goodliest fellowship of famous knights 15 

Whereof this world holds record. Such a sleep 
They sleep — the men I loved. I think that we 
Shall never more, at any future time. 
Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds. 
Walking about the gardens and the halls 20 

Of Camelot, as in the days that were. 
I perish by this people which I made, — 
Tho' Merlin sware that I should come again 
To rule once more — but let what will be, be, 
I am so deeply smitten thro' the helm 25 

That without help I cannot last till morn. 
Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur, 
Which was my pride : for thou rememberest how 
In those old days, one summer noon, an arm 
Rose up from out the bosom of the lake, 30 



2^6 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, 

Holding the sword — and how I rowed across 

And took it, and have worn it, like a king : 

And, wheresoever I am sung or told 

In aftertime, this also shall be known : 35 

But now delay not: take Excalibur, 

And fling him far into the middle mere : 

Watch what thou seest, and lightly bring me word." 

To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere : 
" It is not meet, Sir King, to leave thee thus, 40 

Aidless, alone, and smitten thro' the helm. 
A little thing may harm a wounded man. 
Yet I thy hest will all perform at full. 
Watch what I see, and lightly bring thee word." 

So saying, from the ruin'd shrine he stept 45 

And in the moon athwart the place of tombs, 
Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men. 
Old knights, and over them the sea-wind sang 
Shrill, chill, with flakes of foam. He, stepping down 
By zig-zag paths, and juts of pointed rock, 50 

Came on the shining levels of the lake. 

There drew he forth the brand Excalibur, 
x\nd o'er him, drawing it, the winter moon, 
Brightening the skirts of a long cloud, ran forth 
And sparkled keen with frost against the hilt : 55 

For all the haft twinkled with diamond sparks, 
Myriads of topaz-lights and jacinth-work 
Of subtlest jewellery. He gazed so long 
That both his eyes were dazzled as he stood, 
This way and that dividing the swift mind, 60 

In act to throw : but at the last it seem'd 
Better to leave Excalibur conceal'd 
There in the many-knotted waterflags 
That whistled stiff and dry about the marge. 



ALFRED TEXXYSON. 277 

So strode he back slow to the wounded King. 65 

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere : 
^' Hast thou perform'd my mission which I gave ? 
What is it thou hast seen ? or wliat hast heard ? " 

And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere : 
'• I heard the ripple washing in the reeds, 70 

And the wild water lapping on the crag." 

To whom replied King Arthur, faint and pale : 
'-' Thou hast betray' d thy nature and thy name, 
Not rendering true answer, as beseem'd 
Thy fealty, nor like a noble knight : 75 

For surer sign had follow'd, either hand, 
Or voice, or else a motion of the mere. 
This is a shameful thing for men to lie. 
Yet now, I charge thee, quickly go again 
As thou art lief and dear, and do the thing 80 

I bade thee, watch, and lightly bring me word." 

Then went Sir Bedivere the second time 
Across the ridge, and paced beside the mere. 
Counting the dewy pebbles, fix'd in thought ; 
But when he saw the wonder of the hilt, 85 

How curiously and strangely chased, he smote 
His palms together, and he cried aloud, 

'' And if indeed I cast the brand away. 
Surely a precious thing, one worthy note, 
Should thus be lost for ever from the earth, 90 

Which might have pleased the eyes of many men. 
What good should follow this, if this were done ? 
What harm, undone ? deep harm to disobey, 
Seeing obedience is the bond of rule. 
Were it well to obey then, if a king demand 95 

An act unprofitable, against himself? 
The King is sick, and knows not what he does. 
What record, or what relic of my lord 



2/8 FIRST STEPS TV EXGTISH CTASSICS. 

Should be to aftertime, but empty breath 

And rumors of a doubt ? but were this kept, 

Stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings, 

Some one might show it at a joust of arms, 

Saying, ' King Arthur's sword, Excalibur, 

Wrought by the lonely maiden of the Lake. 

Xine years she wrought it. sitting in the deeps 

Upon the hidden bases of the hills.' 

So might some old man speak in the aftertime 

To all the people, winning reverence. 

But now much honor and much fame were lost.'* 

So spake he, clouded with his own conceit. 
And hid Excalibur the second time. 
And so strode back slow to the wounded King. 

Then spoke King Arthur, breathing heavily : 
^' What is it thou hast seen ? or what hast heard 't " 

And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere : 
" I heard the water lapping on the crag, 
And the long ripple washing in the reeds." 

To whom replied King Arthur, much in wrath : 
'^ Ah, miserable and unkind, untrue, 
Unknio-htlv, traitor-hearted ! Woe is me ! 
Authority forgets a dying king. 
Laid wiclow'd of the povrer in his eye 
That bow'd the will. I see thee what thou art. 
For thou, the latest-left of all my knights, 
In whom should meet the offices of all. 
Thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt; 
Either from lust of gold, or like a girl 
Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes. 
Yet, for a man may fail in duty twice, 
And the third time may prosper, get thee hence : 
But, if thou spare to fling Excalibur, 
I will arise and slav thee with mv hands." 



ALFRED TENNYSON, 279 

Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere, and ran, 
And, leaping down the ridges lightly, plunged 
Among the bulrush-beds, and clutch'd the sword, 135 

And strongly wheel'd and threw it. The great brand 
Made lightnings in the splendor of the moon. 
And flashing round and round, and whirl'd in an arch. 
Shot like a streamer of the northern morn, 
Seen where the moving isles of winter shock 140 

By night, with noises of the northern sea. 
So fiash'd and fell the brand Excalibur : 
But ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm 
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, 
And caught him by the hilt, and brandish'd him 145 

Three times, and drew him under in the mere. 
And lightly went the other to the King. 

Then spoke King Arthur, drawing thicker breath : 
** Now see I by thine eyes that this is done. 
Speak out : what is it thou hast heard, or seen 1 " 150 

And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere : 
" Sir King, I closed mine eyelids, lest the gems 
Should blind my purpose, for I never saw, 
Nor shall see, here or elsewhere, till I die. 
Not tho' I live three lives of mortal men, 155 

So great a miracle as yonder hilt. 
Then with both hands I flung him, wheeling him ; 
But when I look'd again, behold an arm. 
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful. 
That caught him by the hilt and brandish'd him 160 

Three times, and drew him under in the mere." 

And answer made King Arthur, breathing hard : 
" My end draws nigh ; 'tis time that I w^ere gone. 
Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight. 
And bear me to the margin ; yet I fear 165 

My wound hath taken cold, and I shall die." 



28o FIRST STEPS TV T.VGL/SH CLASSICS. 

So saying, from the pavement he half rose. 

Slowly, with pain, reclining on his arm. 

And looking wistfully wath wide blue eyes 

As in a picture. Him Sir Bedivere 17: 

Remorsefully regarded thro' his tears, 

And would have spoken, but he found not words, 

Then took with care, and kneeling on one knee, 

O'er both his shoulders drew the languid hands, 

And rising bore him thro' the place of tombs. 175 

But. as he walk'd. King Arrhur panted hard, 
Like one that feels a nightmare on his bed 
^\llen all the house is mute. So sigh'd the King. 
Muttering and murmuring at his ear, " Quick, quick '. 
I fear it is too late, and I shall die." iSo 

But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge. 
Clothed with his breath, and looking, as he walk'd. 
Larger than human on the frozen hills. 
He heard the deep behind him, and a cry 
Before. His own thought drove him. like a goad. iS; 
Dry clash'd his harness in the icy caves 
And barren chasms, and all to left and right 
The bare black cliff clang'd round him. as he based 
His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang 
Sharp-smirten with the dim of armed heels — 190 

And on a sudden, lo I the level lake 
And the long glories of the winter moon. 

Then saw thev how there hove a duskv baro:e. 
Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stem, 
Beneath them ; and descending they were ware 195 

That all the decks were dense with stately forms 
Black-stoled. black-hooded, like a dream — by these 
Three Queens with crowns of gold — and from t: -: -r 
A ciy that shiver "d to the tingling stars. 
And. as it were one voice an a2:onv -:: 



ALFRED TENiYVSON. . 28 1 

Of lamentation, like a wind, that shrills 

All night in a waste land, where no one comes, 

Or hath come, since the making of the world. 

Then murmur' d Arthur, '' Place me in the barge," 
And to the barge they came. There those three Queens 205 
Put forth their hands, and took the King, and went. 
But she, that rose the tallest of them all 
And fairest, laid his head upon her lap. 
And loosed the shatter'd casque, and chafed his hands, 
And caird him by his name, complaining loud, 210 

And dropping bitter tears against his brow 
Striped with dark blood : for all his face was white 
And colorless, and like the withered moon 
Smote by the fresh beam of the springing east ; 
And all his greaves and cuisses dash'd with drops 215 
Of onset : and the light and lustrous curls — 
That made his forehead like a rising sun 
High from the dais-throne — were parch'd with dust; 
Or, clotted into points and hanging loose, 
Mix'd with the knightly growth that fringed his lips. 220 
So like a shatter'd column lay the King ; 
Not like that Arthur who, with lance in rest, 
From spur to plume a star of tournament, 
Shot thro' the lists at Camelot, and charged 
Before the eyes of ladies and of kings. 225 

Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere, 
" Ah ! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I go ? 
Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes? 
For now I see the true old times are dead, 
When every morning brought a noble chance, 230 

And every chance brought out a noble knight. 
Such times have been not since the light that led 
The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh. 
But now the whole round table is dissolved 



282 FIJ^ST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS, 

Which was an image of the mighty world ; 235 

And I, the last, go forth companionless, 
And the days darken round me, and the years, 
Among new men, strange faces, other minds/' 

And slowly answered Arthur from the barge : 
"" The old order changeth, yielding place to new, 240 

And God fulfils Himself in many ways. 
Lest one good custom should corrupt the world 
Comfort thyself : what comfort is in me ? 
I have lived my life, and that which I have done 
May He within Himself make pure ! but thou, 245 

If thou shouldst never see my face again, 
Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer 
Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice 
Rise like a fountain for me night and day. 
For what are men better than sheep or goats 250 

That nourish a blind life within the brain, 
If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer 
Both for themselves and those who call them friend? 
For so the whole round earth is every way 
Bound by gold chains about the feet of God. 255 

But now farewell. I am going a long way 
With these thou seest — if indeed I go — 
(For all my mind is clouded with a doubt) 
To the island-valley of Avilion ; 

Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, 260 

Nor ever wand blows loudly ; but it lies 
Deep-meadow'd, happy fair with orchard lawns 
And bowery hollows crowned with summer sea, 
W^here I wall heal me of my grievous wound.'' 

So said he, and the barge with oar and sail 265 

Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan 
That, fluting a wild carol ere her death. 
Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood 



ALFRED TENNYSOiW 283 

With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere 
Revolving many memories, till the hull 270 

Look'd one black dot against the verge of dawn, 
And on the mere the wailing died away. 



THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR. 

Full knee-deep lies the winter's snow. 

And the winter winds are wearily sighing : 

Toll ye the church-bell sad and slow, 

And tread softly and speak low. 

For the old year lies a-dying. 5 

Old year, you must not die ; 

You came to us so readily, 

You lived with us so steadily 

Old year, you shall not die. 

He lieth still : he doth not move : 10 

He will not see the dawn of day. 

He hath no other life above. 

He gave me a friend, and a true true-love. 

And the New-year will take 'em away. 

Old year, you must not go; 15 

So long as you have been with us. 
Such joy as you have seen with us, 
Old year, you shall not go. 

He froth'd his bumpers to the brim ; 

A jollier year we shall not see. 20 

But tho' his eyes are waxing dim. 

And tho' his foes speak ill of him, 

He was a friend to me. 

Old year, you shall not die : 

We did so laugh and cry with you, 25 



284 FJRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

I've half a mind to die with 3^011, 
Old year, if vou must die. 

He was full of joke and jest, 

But all his merry quips are o'er. 

To see him die, across the waste -c 

His son and heir doth ride post-haste, 

But he'll be dead before. 

Every one for his own. 

The night is starry and cold, my friend. 

And the New-year blithe and bold, my friend, 35 

Come up to take his own. 

How hard he breathes 1 over the snow 

I heard just now the crowing cock. 

The shadows flicker to and fro : 

The cricket chirps : the light burns low : 40 

'T is nearly twelve o'clock. 

Shake hands, before you die. 

Old year, we '11 dearly rue for you : 

What is it we can do for you 1 

Speak out before you die. 45 

His face is growing sharp and thin. 

Alack ! our friend is gone. 

Close up his eyes : tie up his chin : 

Step from the corpse, and let him in 

That standeth there alone, 5° 

And waiteth at the door. 

There 's a new foot on the floor, my friend. 

And a new face at the door, my friend, 

A new face at the door. 



JOSEPH ADDISON. 285 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

JOSEPH ADDISON (1672-1719). 

"Give days and nights, sir, to the study of Addison, if you mean to be a good 
writer, or, what is more worth, an honest man." — Dr. Johnson. 

Joseph Addison, the great English prose writer, was 
born in 1672, at Milston, near Amesbury, England, of 
which place his father was rector. He received his earlier 
education at the Charter House, in London ; from which 
school he passed, at the age of fifteen, to the University 
of Oxford, where he had a distinguished career. Some 
eulogistic verses of his upon William the Third obtained 
him, through the influence of two of his college friends, 
a government pension of three hundred pounds a year. 
Thus furnished with the necessary funds, Addison re- 
solved to add to his scholarly attainments — as was then 
the custom w^ith all scholars who could afford it — by 
travelling on the Continent. His pension ceased at the 
death of William ; but he again commended himself to 
royalty in the person of Queen Anne, and was appointed 
Commissioner of Appeals in consideration of his having 
glorified in ''The Campaign" the military triumphs of 
Marlborough. He was subsequently appointed to the 
post of secretary to the Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, and 
went to that country to reside. In the mean time, his 
friend Richard Steele, who had been his schoolfellow at 



286 



FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 



the Charter House, had started a serial publication called 
the " Tatler." It appeared three times a week, and in each 
issue gave a short magazine article, and a brief digest of 
contemporary news. Addison was a frequent contributor 
to this periodical. 

At the end of two years it became extinct ; and a daily 
sheet called the ''Spectator " was started, to which Addi- 
son contributed a series of prose articles and sketches 

that were highly and deserv- 
edly popular. They consisted 
of essays and short articles 
on a great variety of subjects. 
These were happy imitations 
of Arabian tales, thoughtful 
meditations, criticisms for 
the guidance of the public 
taste, and humorous sketches 
of the characters commonly 
to be met with in the society 
of the time. Among the 
best of these are the papers 
that refer to Sir Roger de 
Coverley, a good old country 
was issued six hundred and 
thirty-five times ; but these issues were- not consecutive, 
there being once during its career a period of eighteen 
months in which it did not appear, and in which its place 
was supplied by a somewhat similar serial called the 
'' Guardian," in which Addison and Steele were the lead- 
ing writers. In 171 3 Addison's literary career reached 
its zenith, in the publication of his tragedy of '*Cato." 
When put upon the stage, this play met with an enviable 




JOSEPH ADDISON. 



squire. The ''Spectator" 



JOSEPH ADDISON. 287 

success; but modern criticism has pronounced it sadly 
deficient in plot as well as in delineation of character. 

In 1716 he married the Countess of Warwick; but, as 
was the case with Dryden, the high-born lady's temper 
prevented her husband from enjoying any thing like 
domestic happiness. He was for some time a member 
of the House of Commons, but he was naturally so timid 
that he made but a poor appearance there. His death 
took place in 17 19. The personal character of this great 
man was that of a kind and amiable gentleman, who lived 
an almost stainless life. His style is esteemed the best 
example of English composition. It is pure, simple, and 
elegant. His humor is quiet and refined, his satire 
kindly, and his teaching full of those lessons that make 
us wiser men and better members of society. 



VISIT TO SIR ROGER IN THE COUNTRY. 

[From The Spectator, No. io6, Monday, July 2, 171 1.] 

Having often received an invitation from my friend Sir Roger 
de Coverley to pass away a month with him in the country, I last 
week accompanied him thither, and am settled with him for some 
time at his country-house, where I intend to form several of my 
ensuing speculations.' Sir Roger, who is very w^ell acquainted 
with my humor, lets me rise and go to bed when I please ; dine 
at his own table or in my chamber, as I think fit ; sit still and say 
nothing, without bidding me be merry. When the gentlemen of 
the country come to see him, he only shows me at a distance. As 
I have been walking in his fields, I have observed them stealing 
a sight of me over a hedge, and have heard the knight desiring 
them not to let me see them, for that I hated to be stared at. 



288 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS, 

I am the more at ease in Sir Roger's family because it consists 
of sober and staid persons ; for, as the knight is the best master 
in the world, he seldom changes his servants ; and, as he is be- 
loved by all about him, his servants never care for leaving him : 
by this means his domestics are all in years, and grown old with 
their master. You would take his valet-de-chambre for his brother ; 
his butler is gray-headed ; his groom is one of the gravest men 
that I have ever seen ; and the coachman has the looks of a privy- 
councillor. You see the goodness of the master even in the old 
house-dog, and in a gray pad that is kept in the stable with great 
care and tenderness out of regard to his past services, though he 
has been useless for several years. 

I could not but observe with a great deal of pleasure the joy 
that appeared in the countenances of these ancient domestics 
upon my friend's arrival at his country-seat. Some of them could 
not refrain from tears at the sight of their old master : every one 
of them pressed forward to do something for him, and seemed 
discouraged if they were not employed. x\t the same time, the 
good old knight, with a mixture of the father and the master of 
the family, tempered the inquiries after his own affairs with several 
kind questions relating to themselves. This humanity and good 
nature engages everybody to him ; so that, when he is pleasant 
upon any of them, all his family are in good humor, and none so 
much as the person whom he diverts himself with : on the con- 
trary, if he coughs, or betrays any infirmity of old age, it is easy 
for a stander-by to observe a secret concern in the looks of all his 
servants. 

My worthy friend has put me under the particular care of his 
butler, who is a very prudent man, and, as well as the rest of 
his fellow-servants, wonderfully desirous of pleasing me, because 
they have often heard their master talk of me as of his particular 
friend. 

My chief companion, when Sir Roger is diverting himself in 
the woods or the fields is a very venerable man, who is ever with 



JOSEPH ADDISON. 289 

Sir Roger, and has lived at his house in the nature of a chaplain 
above thirty years. This gentleman is a person of good sense 
and some learning, of a very regular life and obliging conversation. 
He heartily loves Sir Roger, and knows that he is very much in 
the old knight's esteem : so that he Hves in the family rather as a 
relation than a dependant. 

I have observed in several of my papers that my friend Sir 
Roger, amidst all his good qualities, is something of a humorist ; 
and that his virtues, as well as imperfections, are, as it were, 
tinged by a certain extravagance which makes them particularly 
his, and distinguishes them from those of other men. This cast 
of mind, as it is generally very innocent in itself, so it renders his 
conversation highly agreeable, and more delightful than the same 
degree of sense and virtue would appear in their common and 
ordinary colors. As I was walking with him last night, he asked 
me how I liked the good man whom I have just now mentioned, 
and, without staying for my answer, told me that he was afraid of 
being insulted with Latin and Greek at his own table ; for which 
reason he desired a particular friend of his at the university to 
find him out a clergyman rather of plain sense than much learn- 
ing, of a good aspect, a clear voice, a sociable temper, and, if 
possible, a man that understood a little of backgammon. " My 
friend," says Sir Roger, ^' found me out this gentleman, who, be- 
sides the endowments required of him, is, they tell me, a good 
scholar, though he does not show it. I have given him the par- 
sonage of the parish, and, because I know his value, have settled 
upon him a good annuity for hfe. If he outlives me, he shall find 
that he was higher in my esteem than perhaps he thinks he is. 
He has now been with me thirty years, and, though he does not 
know I have taken notice of it, has never in all that time asked 
any thing of me for himself; though he is every day soliciting me 
for something in behalf of one or other of my tenants, his pa- 
rishioners. There has not been a lawsuit in the parish since he 
has lived among them. If any dispute arises, they apply them- 



290 FIRST STEPS I A' ENGLISH CLASSICS, 

selves to him for the decision : if they do not acquiesce in his 
judgment, which I think never happened above once or twice at 
most, they appeal to me. At his first setding with me, I made 
him a present of all the good sermons which have been printed 
in English, and only begged of him that every Sunday he would 
pronounce one of them in the pulpit. Accordingly, he has 
digested them into such a series, that they follow one another 
naturally, and make a continued system of practical divinity." 

As Sir Roger was going on in his story, the gentleman we were 
talking of came up to us ; and, upon the knight's asking him who 
preached to-morrow (for it was Saturday night), told us, the Bish- 
op of St. Asaph in the morning, and Dr. South in the afternoon. 
He then showed us his list of preachers for the whole year, where 
I saw, with a great deal of pleasure, Archbishop Tillotson, Bishop 
Saunderson, Dr. Barrow, Dr. Calamy, with several living authors, 
who have published discourses of practical divinity. I no sooner 
saw this venerable man in the pulpit than I very much approved 
of my friend's insisting upon the qualifications of a good aspect 
and a clear voice ; for I was so charmed with the gracefulness of 
his figure and delivery, as well as with the discourses he pro- 
nounced, that I think I never passed any time more to my 
satisfaction. A sermon repeated after this manner is hke the 
composition of a poet in the mouth of a graceful actor. 

I could heartily wish that more of our country clergy would 
follow this example, and, instead of wasting their spirits in labori- 
ous compositions of their own, would endeavor after a handsome 
elocution, and all those other talents that are proper to enforce 
what has been penned by great masters. This would not only be 
more easv to themselves, but more edifying to the people. 



JOSEPH ADDISON. 291 

SIR ROGER AT CHURCH. 

[From The Spectator, No, 112, ^Monday, July 9, 1711.] 

I AM always very well pleased with a country Sunday, and think, 
if keeping holy the seventh day were only a human institution, it 
would be the best method that could have been thought of for 
the polishing and civilizing of mankind. It is certain that coun- 
try people would soon degenerate into a kind of savages and 
barbarians, were there not such frequent returns of a stated time, 
in which the whole village meet together with their best faces, 
and in their cleanliest habits, to converse with one another upon 
different subjects, hear their duties explained to them, and join 
together in adoration of the Supreme Being. Sunday clears away 
the rust of the whole week, not only as it refreshes in their 
minds the notions of religion, but as it puts both the sexes upon 
appearing in their most agreeable forms, and exerting all such 
qualities as are apt to give them a figure in the eye of the village. 
A country fellow distinguishes himself as much in the churchyard 
as a citizen does upon the Change ; the whole parish politics being 
generally discussed in that place, either after sermon, or before 
the bell rings. 

My friend Sir Roger, being a good Churchman, has beautified 
the inside of his church with several texts of his own choosing. 
He has likewise given a handsome pulpit-cloth, and railed in the 
comm.union-table at his own expense. He has often told me, that, 
at his coming to his estate, he found his parishioners very irregular : 
and that, in order to make them kneel and join in the responses, 
he gave every one of them a hassock, and a common-prayer book, 
and at the same time employed an itinerant singing-master (who 
goes about the country for that purpose) to instruct them rightly 
in the tunes of the Psalms ; upon which they now very much 
value themselves, and indeed outdo most of the country churches 
that I have ever heard. 



292 FIRST STEPS TV ENGLISH CLASSICS, 

As Sir Roger is landlord to the whole congregation, he keeps 
them in very good, order, and will suffer nobody to sleep in it 
besides himself; for if, by chance, he has been surprised into a 
short nap at sermon, upon recovering out of it he stands up and 
looks about him, and, if he sees anybody else nodding, either 
wakes them himself, or sends his servants to them. Several other 
of the old knight's particularities break out upon these occasions. 
Sometimes he will be lengthening out a verse in the singing 
Psalms half a minute after the rest of the congregation have done 
with it. Sometimes, when he is pleased with the matter of his 
devotion, he pronounces ^^ Amen" three or four times to the same 
prayer ; and sometimes stands up, when everybody else is upon 
their knees, to count the congregation, or see if any of his tenants 
are missing. 

I w^as yesterday very much surprised to hear my old friend, in 
the midst of the service, calhng out to one John Matthews to 
mind what he was about, and not disturb the congregation. This 
John Matthews, it seems, is remarkable for being an idle fellow ; 
and, at that time, was kicking his heels for his diversion. This 
authority of the knight, though exerted in that odd manner which 
accompanies him in all the circumstances of life, has a very good 
effect upon the parish, who are not polite enough to see any thing 
ridiculous in his behavior : besides that, the general good sense 
and worthiness of his character make his friends observe these 
little singularities as foils that rather set off than blemish his good 
qualities. 

As soon as the sermon is finished, nobody presumes to stir till 
Sir Roger is gone out of the church. The knight walks down 
from his seat in the chancel between a doable row of his tenants 
that stand bowing to him on each side, and every now and then 
inquires how such a one's wife or mother or son or father does 
whom he does not see at church ; which is understood as a secret 
reprimand to the person that is absent. 

The chaplain has often told me^ that upon a catechising day, 



JOSEPH ADDISON. 293 

when Sir Roger has been pleased with a boy that answers well, he 
has ordered a Bible to be given him next day for his encourage- 
ment, and sometimes accompanies it with a flitch of bacon to 
his mother. Sir Roger has likewise added five pomids a year to 
the clerk's place ; and, that he may encourage the young fellows 
to make themselves perfect in the church-service, has promised, 
upon the death of the present incumbent, who is very old, to 
bestow it according to merit. 



DEATH OF SIR ROGER. 

[From The Spectator, No. 517, Thursday, Oct. 23, 1712.] 

We last night received a piece of ill news at our club, which 
very sensibly afflicted every one of us. I question not but my 
readers themselves will be troubled at the hearing of it. To 
keep them no longer in suspense, Sir Roger de Coverley is dead. 
He departed this life, at his house in the country, after a few 
weeks' sickness. Sir Andrew Freeport has a letter from one of 
his correspondents in those parts, that informs him the old man 
caught a cold at the county-sessions, as he was very warmly 
promoting an address of his own penning, in which he succeeded 
according to his wishes. But this particular comes from a Whig 
justice of peace, who was always Sir Roger's enemy and antago- 
nist. I have letters both from the chaplain and Captain Sentry, 
which mention nothing of it, but are filled with many particulars 
to the honor of the good old man. I have likewise a letter from 
the butler, who took so much care of me last summer, when I 
was at the knight's house. As my friend the butler mentions, in 
the simplicity of his heart, several circumstances the others have 
passed over in silence, I shall give my reader a copy of this letter^ 
without any alteration or diminution : — 

Honored Sir, — Knowing that you was my old master's good friend, 
I could not forbear sending you the melancholy news of his death, which 
has afflicted the whole country as well as his poor servants, who loved him, 



294 FIRST STEPS TV EXGLISH CLASSICS. 

I ma}^ say, better than we did our lives. I am afraid he caught his death at 
the last count3'-sessions, where he would go to see justice done to a poor 
widow woman and -her fatherless children, that had been wronged by a 
neighboring gentleman ; for you know, my good master was always the poor 
man's friend. Upon his coming home, the first complaint he made was, Ih^t 
he had lost his roast-beef stomach, not being able to touch a sirloin, which 
was served up according to custom ; and you know he used to take great 
delight in it. From that time forward he grew worse and worse, but still kept 
a good heart to the last. Indeed, we were once in great hope of his recover^-, 
upon a kind message that was sent him from the widow lady whom he had 
made love to the forty last years of his life; but this only proved a lightning 
before his death. He has bequeathed to this lady, as a token of his love, a 
great pearl necklace, and a couple of silver bracelets set with Jewels, which 
belonged to my good old lady his mother. He has bequeathed the fine 
white gelding, that he used to ride a-hunting upon, to his chaplain, because 
he thought he would be kind to him ; and has left yon all his boo^. He 
has moreover bequeathed to the chaplain a very pretty tenement, with good 
lands about it. It being a ver}^ cold day when he made his will, he left for 
mourning, to every man in the parish, a great firieze coatg and to even- 
woman a black riding-hood. 

It was a moving sight to see him take leave of his poor servants, com- 
mending us all for our fidelit}*, while we were not able to speak a word for 
weeping. As we, most of us, are grown gra3'-headed in our dear master's 
service, he has left us j^ensions and legacies, which we may live very com- 
fortably upon the remaining part of our da^'s. He has bequeathed a great 
deal more in charity, which is not ^^et come to my knowledge; and it is per- 
emptorih' said in the parish that he has left money to build a steeple to the 
church ; for he was heard to say some time ago, that if he lived two years 
longer, Coverley church should have a steeple to iL The chaplain tells 
everybody he made a very good end, and never speaks of him without 
tears. 

He was buried, according to his own directions, among the family of the 
Cover leys, on the left hand of his father. Sir Arthur. The coffin was carried 
by six of his tenants, and the pall held up by six of the quorum. The whole 
parish followed the corpse, with heavy hearts, and in their mourning suits : 
the men in frieze, and the women in riding-hoods. Captain Sentry, my 
master's nephew, has taken possession of the Hall-house and the whole 
estate. When m}-' old master saw^ him a little before Ms death, he shcx^k him 
bv the hand, and wished him Joy of the estate which was falling to him, de- 
siring him only to make a good use of it, and to pay the several l^acies and 
the gifts of charit}', which he told him he had left as qoitHr^nts upon the 



JOSEPH ADDISON, 295 

estate The captain truly seems a courteous man, though he says but little - 
He makes much of those whom my master loved, and shows great kindness 
to the old house-dog that you know my poor master was so fond of. It 
would have gone to your heart to have heard the moans the dumb creature 
made on the day of my master's death. He has never joyed himself since ; 
no more has any of us. It was the melancholiest day for the poor people 
that ever happened in Worcestershire. 

This is all from, honored sir, your most sorrowful servant. 

EDWARD BISCUIT. 

P. S. — My master desired, some weeks before he died, that a book, 
which comes up to you by the carrier, should be given to Sir Andrew 
Freeport in his name. 

This letter, notwithstanding the poor butler's manner of writing 
it, gave us such an idea of our good old friend, that upon the 
reading of it there was not a dry eye in the club. Sir Andrew, 
opening the book, found it to be a collection of Acts of Parlia- 
ment. There was in particular the Act of Uniformity, with some 
passages in it marked by Sir Roger's own hand. Sir Andrew^ 
found that they related to two or three points \vhich he had dis- 
puted with Sir Roger the last time he appeared at the club. Sir 
Andrew, who w^ould have been merry at such an incident on 
another occasion, at the sight of the old man's writing, burst into 
tears, and put the book in his pocket. Captain Sentry informs 
me that the knight has left rings and mourning for every one in 
the club. 



296 FIRST STEPS TV EXGUSH CTASSICS, 



CHAPTER XIX. 

LORD BYRON (1788-1824). 

" B3Ton*s poetry is great — great, it makes him truly great ; he has not so much 
greatness in himself.'" — Campbell. 

"The popularity of Byron, take it for all in all, was probably the most splendid 
that ever poet was applauded and flattered with. His song had larger audience over 
the earth ; and on that audience it exerted an unwonted fascination, swaying the 
feelings of multitudes, and making its words and music familiar on their lips." — 
Henry P.eed. 

Lord Byron was born in London in 1788, and was the 
son of John B3Ton — a disreputable captain in the Guards 
— and Catherine Gordon, an Aberdeenshire heiress. The 
reckless captain soon spent his wife's fortune, and then 
left her and her son, the future poet, to get on as best 
they might. After some years of genteel poverty spent 
in Aberdeen, Byron, by the death of his grand-uncle, 
became a lord, and heir to New^stead Abbey. He was 
now sent to Harrow, and afterwards to Cambridge, where 
he broke the rules of the university and neglected his 
proper studies. 

In 1807, and while he was still at Cambridge, he issued 
a volume of poems entitled ''Hours of Idleness," which 
was very severely dealt with b}' the ''Edinburgh Review." 
This roused his wrath ; and in revenge he wrote " Eng- 
lish Bards and Scotch Reviewers," a satire, in w^hich he 
not only lashed his reviewer, but also most of the notable 



LORD BYRON. 



297 



authors of the day — men who had never harmed him. 
After a short time, he felt ashamed of himself, and tried, 
though in vain, to suppress the poem. At the age of 
twenty-one he visited Spain, Greece, and Turkey, and 
produced the first two cantos of '' Childe Harold," which 
took the public by storm ; and Byron was at once declared 
to be a prince among the poets. On his return to Lon- 
don he was rapturously 
received, and almost wor- 
shipped by his enthusias- 
tic admirers. This was in 
1812; and during the fol- 
lowing three years he wrote 
^^The Giaour," ^^ Bride of 
Abydos," ''Corsair," and 
*'Lara," — narrative poems, 
describing the scenery of 
modern Greece, and the 
manners and passions of 
the people. 

In 181 5 he married Miss 
Milbanke, from whom he 

parted a year afterwards, the real cause of the separation 
being even now a mystery. The public of that day took 
it for granted that he had been cruel to her, and con^ 
demned him as heartily as once they had applauded him. 
Abandoned by his wife, and detested by his countrymen, 
he left England, never more to return. He spent his time 
in travelling about from place to place, living a dissolute 
life, and occasionally sending home for publication the 
remaining cantos of '' Childe Harold," and other poems. 
*• Childe Harold " is com.paratively free from the grave 




LORD BYRON. 



2gS FIRST STEPS IX EXGLISH CLASSICS. 

faults that belong to Byron's poems in general. In many 
respects it must be regarded as equal to the best efforts 
of English genius. There is reason to believe that his 
better nature revived during his last days. At least, we 
find him sympathizing with the down-trodden Greeks, and 
working hard to secure their independence. While so 
engaged, he fell a victim to a marsh-fever w^hich he caught 
at Alissolonghi, and died there, at the early age of thirty- 
six, in 1824. 

Byron's writings were at first gloomy and passionate ; 
later, they began to disclose a wonderful store of wit and 
humor ; and, at last, bright flashes of wit and touches of 
the tenderest pathos, bursts of eloquence and paroxysms 
of despair, were to be found in one and the same poem. 
In graphic power of description, in passionate energy, in 
grace and beauty of style, Byron was without a rival. 

The following is an extract from Thomas Moore's 
charming pen-picture of Byron : '* In height he was five 
feet eight and a half. Of his face, the beauty may be 
pronounced to have been of the highest order. His e3^es, 
though of a light gray, were capable of all extremes of 
expression ; his head was remarkably small ; his nose, 
though handsomely, was rather thickl}-, shaped ; his teeth 
were white and regular, and his complexion colorless ; his 
hands were very white and small. The lameness of 
his right foot, though an obstacle to grace, but little im- 
peded the activity of his movements." It was said that 
the wonderful beauty of his lips escaped every painter and 
sculptor. 



LORD BYRON. 299 



THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. 



My hair is gray, but not with years, 
Nor grew it white 
In a single night, 
As men's have grown from sudden fears : 
My hmbs are bowed, though not with toil, 5 

But rusted with a vile repose, 
For they have been a dungeon's spoil, 

And mine has been the fate of those 
To whom the goodly earth and air 
Are banned and barred — forbidden fare. 10 

But this was for my father's faith 
I suffered chains and courted death ; 
That father perished at the stake 
For tenets he would not forsake ; 
And for the same his lineal race 15 

In darkness found a dweUing-place ; 
We were seven — who now are one. 

Six in youth, and one in age. 
Finished as they had begun. 

Proud of persecution's rage ; 20 

One in fire, and two in field. 
Their belief with blood have sealed. 
Dying as their father died. 
For the God their foes denied ; 

Three were in a dungeon cast, 25 

Of whom this wreck is left the last. 

II. 

There are seven pillars of Gothic mould 
In Chillon's dungeons deep and old, 



300 FIRST STEPS IX EXGLISH CLASSICS. 

There are seven columns, massy and gray, 

Dim with a dull imprisoned ray, 
A sunbeam which hath lost its way, 
And through the crevice and the cleft 
Of the thick wall is fallen and left ; 
Creeping over the floor so damp, 
Like a marsh's meteor lamp : 
And in each pillar there is a ring, 

And in each ring there is a chain ; 
That iron is a cankering thing, 

For in these limbs its teeth remain, 
\\i\h marks that will not wear away, 
Till I ha\-e done with this new day, 
AVhich now is painful to these eyes. 
Which have not seen the sun so rise 
For years — I cannot count them o'er, 
I lost their long and heavy score 
When my last brother drooped and died. 
And I lav livin;^ bv his side. 



m. 

They chained us each to a column stone. 
And we were three — yet. each alone ; 
We could not move a single pace, 
We could not see each other's face, 
But with that pale and livid light 
That made us stranoers in our sidit : 
And thus together — yet apart, 
Fettered in hand, but joined in heart, 
'Twas still some solace, in the dearth 
Of the pure elements of earth, 
To hearken to each other's speech, 
And each turn comforter to each 



LORD BYRON, lOl 

With some new hope, or legend old, ^o 

Or song heroically bold ; 

But even these at length grew cold. 

Our voices took a dreary tone, 

An echo of the dungeon stone, 

A grating sound -— not full and free, ^5 

As they of yore were wont to be : 

It might be fancy — but to me 
They never sounded like our own. 

IV. 

I was the eldest of the three, 

And to uphold and cheer the rest 7° 

I ought to do — rnd did — my best, 
And each did well in his degree. 

The youngest, whom my father loved, 
Because our mother's brow was given 
To him, with eyes as blue as heaven, 75 

For him my soul was sorely moved ; 
And truly might it be distressed 
To see such bird in such a nest ; 
For he was beautiful as day 

(When day was beautiful to me So 

As to young eagles, being free), — 

A polar day, which will not see 
A sunset till its summer's gone, 

Its sleepless summer of long light. 
The snow-clad offspring of the sun : 85 

And thus he was as pure and bright. 
And in his natural spirit gay, 
With tears for nought but others' ills. 
And then they flowed like mountain rills, 
Unless he could assuage the woe 90 

W^hich he abhorred to view below. 



302 FIRST STEPS TV EXGUSH CTASSICS. 



V. 

The other was as pure of mmd, 

But formed to combat with his kind ; 

Strong in his frame, and of a mood 

Which 'gainst the world in w^ar had stood, 95 

And perished in the foremost rank 

With joy ; but not in chains to pine : 
His spirit withered with their clank, 

I saw it silently decline — 

And so perchance in sooth did mine : ^oo 

But yet I forced it on to cheer 
Those relics of a home so dear. 
He was a hunter of the hills, 

Had followed there the deer and wolf; 

To him his dungeon was a gulf, 105 

And fettered feet the worst of ills. 

^^. 

Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls : 
A thousand feet in depth below 
Its massy waters meet and flow ; 

Thus much the fathom-line was sent ^^^ 

From Chillon's snow-white battlement, 

^Miich round about the wave enthralls : 
A double dungeon wall and wave 
Have made, and like a living grave 
Below the surface of the lake ^i^ 

The dark vault lies wherein we lay. 
We heard it ripple night and day ; 

Sounding o'er our heads it knocked ; 
And I have felt the winter's spray 
Wash through the bars when winds were high 120 

And wanton in the happy sky ; 



LORD BYRON. 303 

And then the very rock hath rocked, 

And I have felt it shake unshocked, 

Because I could have smiled to see 

The death that would have set me free. 125 

VII. 

I said my nearer brother pined, 

I said his mighty heart declined ; 

He loathed and put away his food ; 

It was not that 'twas coarse and rude, 

For we were used to hunter's fare, 13° 

And for the like had little care : 

The milk drawn from the mountain goat 

Was changed for water from the moat. 

Our bread was such as captives' tears 

Have moistened many a thousand years, '35 

Since man first pent his fellow-men 

Like brutes within an iron den ; 

But what were these to us or him ? 

These wasted not his heart or limb ; 

My brother's soul was of that mould 140 

Which in a palace had grown cold, 

Had his free breathing been denied 

The range of the steep mountain's side ; 

But why delay the truth? — he died. 

I saw, and could not hold his head, ^45 

Nor reach his dying hand — nor dead, 

Though hard I strove, but strove in vain, 

To rend and gnash my bonds in twain. 

He died — and they unlocked his chain, 

And scooped for him a shallow grave i5c> 

Even from the cold earth of our cave. 

I begged them, as a boon, to lay 

His corse in dust whereon the day 



304 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

Might shine : it was a fooHsh thought, 

But then within my brain it wrought, i55 

That even in death his freeborn breast 

In such a dungeon could not rest. 

I might have spared my idle prayer : 

They coldly laughed — and laid him there : 

The fiat and turfless earth above i^o 

The being we so much did love ; 

His empty chain above it leant, 

Such murder's fitting monument 1 

VIII. 

But he, the favorite and the flower, 

Most cherished since his natal hour, 165 

His mother's image in fair face. 

The infant love of all his race. 

His martyred father's dearest thought. 

My latest care, for whom I sought 

To hoard my life, that his might be 170 

Less wretched now, and one day free j 

He, too, who yet had held untired 

A spirit natural or inspired — 

He, too, was struck, and day by day 

Was withered on the stalk away. ^75 

O God ! it is a fearful thing 

To see the human soul take wing 

In any shape, in any mood : 

I've seen it rushing forth in blood, 

I've seen it on the breaking ocean i^° 

Strive with a swoln convulsive motion, 

I've seen the sick and ghastly bed 

Of sin delirious with its dread ; 

But these were horrors — this was woe 

Unmixed with such, but sure and slow. ^^5 



LORD BYRON. 30S 

He faded, and so calm and meek, 

So softly worn, so sweetly weak, 

So tearless, yet so tender, kind. 

And grieved for those he left behind ; 

With all the while a cheek whose bloom ^9° 

Was as a mockery of the tomb, 

Whose tints as gently sunk away 

As a departing rainbow's ray ; 

An eye of most transparent light. 

That almost made the dungeon bright ; ^95 

And not a word of murmur, — not 

A groan o'er his untimely lot, — 

A Httle talk of better days, 

A little hope my own to raise, 

For I was sunk in silence, — lost 200 

In this last loss, of all the most ; 

And then the sighs he would suppress 

Of fainting nature's feebleness. 

More slowly drawn, grew less and less : 

I hstened, but I could not hear ; 205 

I called, for I was wild with fear ; 

I knew 'twas hopeless, but my dread 

Would not be thus admonished. 

I called, and thought I heard a sound : 

I burst my chain with one strong bound, 210 

And rushed to him ; I found him not ; 

/only stirred in this black spot, 

/ only lived — / only drew 

The accursed breath of dungeon-dew ; 

The last — the sole — the dearest link 215 

Between me and the eternal brink, 

Which bound me to my failing race, 

Was broken in this fatal place. 

One on the earth, and one beneath, — - 



3o6 FIRST STEPS TY ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

My brothers, — both had ceased to breathe. 

I took that hand which lay so still, 

Alas I my own was full as chill ; 

I had not strength to stir, or strive, 

But felt that I was still ahve, — 

A frantic feeling when we know 

That what we love shall ne'er be so. 

I know not why 

I could not die, 
I had no earthly hope — but faith, 
And that forbade a selfish death. 



IX. 

What next befell me then and there, 

I know^ not well — I never knew. 
First came the loss of light and air. 

And then of darkness too : 
I had no thought, no feeling — none — 235 

Among the stones I stood a stone, 
x\nd was, scarce conscious what I wist. 
As shrubless crags within the mist : 
For all was blank, and bleak, and gray; 
It was not night — it was not day — 240 

It was not even the dungeon-hght. 
So hateful to my hea\y sight, 
But vacancy absorbing space. 
And lixedness — without a place ; 
There were no stars, no earth, no time, 245 

No check, no change, no good, no crime ; 
But silence, and a stirless breath 
Which neither was of life nor death, — 
A sea of stagnant idleness. 
Blind, boundless, mute, and motionless ! 250 



LORD BYRON, 30/ 



X. 

A light broke in upon my brain, — 

It was the carol of a bird ; 
It ceased, and then it came again, 

The sweetest song ear ever heard ; 
And mine was thankful till my eyes 255 

Ran over with the glad surprise, 
And they that moment could not see 
I was the mate of misery ; 
But then by dull degrees came back 
My senses to their wonted track ; 260 

I saw the dungeon walls and floor 
Close slowly round me as before, 
I saw the glimmer of the sun 
Creeping as it before had done. 

But through the crevice where it came 265 

That bird was perched, as fond and tame. 

And tamer than upon the tree ; 
A lovely bird with azure wings. 
And song that said a thousand things, 
And seemed to say them all for me ! 270 

I never saw its like before, 
I ne'er shall see its Hkeness more : 
It seemed like me to want a mate. 
But was not half so desolate ; 

And it was come to love me when 275 

None lived to love me so again, 
And, cheering from my dungeon's brink, 
Had brought me back to feel and think. 
I know not if it late were free. 

Or broke its cage to perch on mine, 280 

But knowing well captivity. 

Sweet bird, I could not wish for thine ! 



308 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

Or if it were, in winged guise, 

A visitant from Paradise ; 

For — Heaven forgive that thought ! the while 285 

Which made me both to weep and smile — 

I sometimes deemed that it might be 

My brother's soul come down to me ; 

But then at last away it flew, 

And then 'twas mortal — well I knew, 290 

For he would never thus have flown, 

And left me twice so doubly lone, — 

Lone as the corse within its shroud, 

Lone as a solitary cloud, 

K single cloud on a sunny day, 295 

While all the rest of heaven is clear, 
A frown upon the atmosphere. 
That hath no business to appear 

When skies are blue and earth is gay. 



XL 

A kind of change came in my fate, 3°^) 

My keepers grew compassionate ; 

I know not what had made them so, 

They were inured to sights of woe. 

But so it was : my broken chain 

With links unfastened did remain, 305 

And it was liberty to stride 

Along my cell from side to side. 

And up and down, and then athwart. 

And tread it over every part ; 

And round the pillars one by one, 3^® 

Returning where my walk begun. 

Avoiding only, as I trod, 

My brothers' graves without a sod j 



LORD BYRON. 309 

For if I thought with heedless tread 

My step profaned their lowly bed, 3^5 

My breath came gaspingly and thick, 

And my crushed heart fell blind and sick. 

xn. 

I made a footing in the wall, 

It was not therefrom to escape, 
For I had buried one and all 3^0 

Who loved me in a human shape ; 
And the whole earth would henceforth be 
A wider prison unto me : 
No child, no sire, no kin had I, 

No partner in my misery ; 325 

I thought of this, and I was glad. 
For thought of them had made me mad ; 
But I was curious to ascend 
To my barred windows, and to bend 
Once more upon the mountains high Zl^ 

The quiet of a loving eye. 

XIII. 

I saw them — and they were the same. 
They were not changed like me in frame ; 
I saw their thousand years of snow 
On high — their wide long lake below, 335 

And the blue Rhone in fullest flow ; 
I heard the torrents leap and gush 
O'er channelled rock and broken bush ; 
I saw the white -walled distant town. 
And whiter sails go skimming down ; 34° 

And then there was a little isle. 
Which in my very face did smile, 
The only one in view, — 



3IO FIRST STEPS IX EXGLISH CLASSICS. 

A small green isle, it seemed no more, 

Scarce broader than my dungeon floor, 345 

But in it there were three tall trees, 

And o'er it blew the mountain breeze, 

And by it there were waters flowing, 

And on it there were }'oung flowers growing 

Of gentle breath and hue. 35^ 

The fish swam by the castle wall. 
And they seemed joyous each and ail ; 
The eagle rode the rising blast, 
Methought he never flew so fast 

As then to me he seemed to fly : 355 

And then new tears came in my eye, 
And I felt troubled, and would fain 
I had not left my recent chain ; 
i\nd, when I did descend again, 

The darkness of my dim abode 3^0 

Fell on me as a heavy load ; 
It was as is a new-dug grave 
Closing o'er one we sought to save, — 
And yet my glance, too much opprest, 
Had almost need of such a rest. 3^5 



XR'. 

It might be months, or years, or days, — 

I kept no count, I took no note, 
I had no hope my eyes to raise 

And clear them of their dreary mote : 
At last men came to set me free : 

I asked not why, and recked not where ; 
It was at length the same to me, 
Fettered or fetterless to be ; 

I learned to love despair. 



LORD BYRO.W 311 

And thus when they appeared at last, 375 

And all my bonds aside were cast, 

These heavy walls to me had grown 

A hermitage — and all my own ! 

And half I felt as they were come 

To tear me from a second home. 3^0 

With spiders I had friendship made, 

And watched them in their sullen trade. 

Had seen the mice by moonlight play, 

And why should I feel less than they? 

We were all inmates of one place, 3^5 

And I, the monarch of each race. 

Had power to kill ; yet, strange to tell 1 

In quiet we had learned to dwell ; 

My very chains and I grew friends, 

So much a long communion tends 39^ 

To make us what we are : — even I 

Regained my freedom with a sigh. 



312 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 



CHAPTER XX. 

WILLIAM COWPER (1731-1800). 

" His talent is but the picture of his character, and his poems but the echo of his 
Ufe. Poor charming soul, perishing like a frail flower transplanted from a warm 
land to the snows ! the world's temperature was too rough for it ; and the moral law 
which should have supported it, tore it with its thorns." — Taine. 

William Cowper, whom his best biographer, Southey, 
speaks of as ''the most popular poet of his generation, and 
the best of English letter-writers," was born at Berkham- 
stead, England, in 1731. His mother, whom to the last 
he affectionately remembered, died when he was only six 
years old. His constitution was from his infancy remark- 
ably delicate, and his extremely sensitive nature was sub- 
ject to fits of melancholy. He received his education at 
Westminster School. Being designed for the law, he was 
placed under an eminent attorney, on leaving whom he 
entered the Inner Temple. At the age of thirty-one he 
was nominated clerk in the House of Lords, but an 
unconquerable timidity of character prevented his enter- 
ing upon the duties of the appointment. He was next 
appointed clerk of the journals ; but an occasion occurring 
which rendered it necessary for the clerk to appear before 
the bar of the House, had such an effect on his nerves 
that he resigned his place. A morbid melancholy seized 
him, and it was found necessary to place him under the 



WILLIAM COW PER. 



313 



private care of a ph3^sician. After a time he recovered his 
mental faculties. 

He settled at Huntington, where he entered into a close 
friendship with a clergyman of the name of Unwin, in 
whose family he became an inmate. Mr. Unwin died in 
1767, and Cowper and Mrs. Unwin settled at Olney. He 
had, as yet, written but little, but in 1782 he issued a vol- 
ume of poems, which, however, attracted but little public at- 
tention. But a second vol- 
ume, in 1785, established his 
reputation as a poet. This 
volume contained his cele- 
brated poem, ''The Task," 
a blank - verse production, 
written at the suggestion of 
his friend and admirer. Lady 
Austin. The same lady was 
also the occasion of the popu- 
lar ballad, "John Gilpin," the 
story of which she related to 
amuse Cowper during one of 
his fits of melancholy. About 
the same time he translated 
the Iliad of Homer into blank verse. 

In 1794 the King granted Cowper a pension of three 
hundred pounds a year, but the royal bounty was too late 
to yield much profit or pleasure. Its recipient was in a 
state of utter dejection, — a kind of morbid insanity, from 
which he rarely emerged into the enjoyment of unclouded 
reason. He continued to write, in short lucid intervals, 
until his death in 1800. 

Cowper's personal appearance is thus described by Hay- 




WILLIAM COWPER. 



314 FIRST STEPS I AT ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

ley, his friend and biographer : ''He was of middle stature, 
rather strong than delicate in the form of his limbs ; the 
color of his hair was a light brown, that of his eyes a 
bluish gray, and his complexion ruddy. In his dress he 
was neat, but not finical ; in his diet, temperate and not 
dainty. He had an air of pensive reserve in his deport- 
ment, and his extreme shyness sometimes produced in his 
manners a mixture of awkwardness and dignity ; but no 
being could be more truly graceful when he was in perfect 
health, and perfectly pleased with his society." 



ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE OUT 
OF NORFOLK. 

Oh that those lips had language ! Life has passed 
AVith me but roughly since I heard thee last. 
Those lips are thine — thy own sweet smiles I see, 
The same that oft in childhood solaced me : 
Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, 5 

" Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away ! '' 
The meek intelligence of those dear eyes 
(Blest be the art that can immortalize, — 
The art that baffles Time's tyrannic claim 
To quench it !) here shines on me still the same. ^o 

Faithful remembrancer of one so dear, 

welcome guest, though unexpected here ! 
Who bidd'st me honor with an artless song, 
Affectionate, a mother lost so long. 

1 will obey, not willingly alone, ^5 
But gladly, as the precept were her own : 

And, while that face renews my filial grief, 
Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief, 



WILLIAM COW PER, 315 

Shall steep me in Elysian reverie, 

A momentary dream that thou art she. 20 

My mother ! when I learnt that thou wast dead, 
Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ? 
Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, 
Wretch even then, hfe's journey just begun? 
Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unfelt, a kiss j 25 

Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss — 
Ah, that maternal smile ! It answers — Yes. 
I heard the bell tolled on thy burial-day, 
I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away. 
And, turning from my nursery window, drew 3° 

A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu. 
But was it such? — It was. — Where thou art gone, 
Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. 
May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore. 
The parting sound shall pass my lips no more. 35 

Thy maidens, grieved them.selves at my concern, 
Oft gave me promise of thy quick return. 
What ardently I wished I long believed. 
And, disappointed still, was still deceived, 
By expectation every day beguiled, 40 

Dupe of to-morrow, even from a child. 
Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went, 
Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent, 
I learnt at last submission to my lot ; 
But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot. 45 

Where once we dwelt, our name is heard no more ; 
Children not thine have trod my nursery floor ; 
And where the gardener Robin, day by day, 
Drew me to school along the public way. 
Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapt 5° 

In scarlet mantle v/arm, and velvet capt, 
'Tis now become a history httle known. 
That once we called the pastoral house our own. 



1 6 F//^Sr STEPS IX EXGLISH CLASSICS, 

Short-lived possession ! but the record fair 

That memor}- keeps of all thy kindness there, 55 

Still outUves many a storm that has effaced 

A thousand other themes less deeply traced. 

Thy ni^rhtly visits to my chamber made, 

T/.:.: :>.::: might'st know me safe and warmly laid; 

Thy morning bounties ere I left my home, 60 

T 1: e .: : - c : : t . or confectionery plu m j 

The ir.igrant waters on my cheek bestowed 

B}" t:i}- own hand, till fresh they shone and glowed ; 

Ai: :::^. ar. 1. v. ::e endearing still than all, 

T>.y con-:?.::: T.y^ of love, that knew no fall, ^5 

Ne'er roughened by tnose cataracts and breaks 

That humor interposed too often makes ; 

AH this still legible in memory's page, 

And still to be so to my latest age. 

Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay 7° 

Such h:u:r5 :c :hee as my numbers may; 

Perhac- a hah memorial, but sincere. 

Xc: scorned in heaven, though little noticed here. 

Could Time, his night reversed, restore the hours, 
When, p'iaying wi:h :hy vesture's tissued ilowers, 75 

T::e vioA:, :ne p:ni^. and jessamine, 
I pricked them into paper with a pin 
(An:: thou vas: he :;ier than myself the while, 
Wouic-: -::":iy -■ rch. and stroke my head, and smile), 
C:ui:i :h:^e iz": yieasant days again appear, So 

Alight one wish bring them, would I wish them here? 
I v:y:X. n:: ::::s: :ny heart — the dear delight 
Sec:ns sc :j i:e desired, perhaps I might. — 
But no — what here we call our life is such 
So httle to be loved, and thou so much, ^5 

That I should ill requite thee to constrain 
Thj' unbound spirit into bonds again. 



yyxLLIAM COWPER, 317 

Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast 
(The storms all weathered and the ocean crossed) 
Shoots into port at some well-havened isle, 9° 

Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile, 
There sits quiescent on the floods that show 
Her beauteous form reflected clear below, 
While airs impregnated with incense play 
Around her, fanning light her streamers gay, — 9S 

So thou, with sails how swift ! hast reached the shore 
'• Where tempests never beat nor billows roar," 
And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide 
Of life long since has anchored by thy side. 
But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest, 100 

Always from port withheld, always distressed — 
Me howhng winds drive devious, tempest-tossed. 
Sails ript, seams opening wide, and compass lost, 
And day by day some current's thwarting force 
Sets me more distant from a prosperous course. 105 

But oh, the thought that thou art safe, and he ! 
That thought is joy, arrive what may to me. 
My boast is not that I deduce my birth 
From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth ; 
But higher far my proud pretensions rise, — "o 

The son of parents passed into the skies. 
And now, farewell — Time unrevoked has run 
His wonted course, yet what I wished is done. 
By contemplation's help, not sought in vain, 
I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again ; ^15 

To have renewed the joys that once were mine, 
Without the sin of violating thine ; 
And, while the wings of Fancy still are free, 
And I can view this mimic show of thee. 
Time has but half succeeded in his theft — 120 

Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left. 



3l8 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 



CHAPTER XXI. 

WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE (1564-1616). 

" I loved the man, and do honor his memory. He was indeed honest, and of an 
open and free nature." — Ben Jonson. 

" The name of Shakspeare is the greatest in our literature ; it is the greatest in all 
literature." — Hallam. 

" And he, the man whom Nature selfe had made 
To mocke herself and Truth to imitate." — Spenser. 

William Shakspeare, the greatest of all poets, was 
born on the 23d of April, 1564, in Stratford-on-Avon, a 
small town in Warwickshire, England, His father, John 
Shakspeare, was a respectable tradesman ; but his mother, 
Isabella Arden, was an heiress of ancient and even 
knightly descent. For many years John Shakspeare and 
his wife lived happily, and things prospered with them : 
and we learn that he was made alderman, and afterwards 
mayor, of his native town. Then he seems to have taken 
to farming, about which he knew little or nothing, and the 
consequence was, that in his later days he was so poor 
that his son William had to support him. The poet was 
born during the prosperous part of his father's life, but by 
the time he was fifteen there was poverty in the house- 
hold. The future dramatist received little or no instruc- 
tion from his parents, for neither of them could read or 
write ; but he was sent to the free grammar school, where 



WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 



319 



he received the advantages of such elementary instruction 
as was offered by the schools of those days. 

According to the various legends connected with the 
early life of so great a man, Shakspeare seems to have 
been a wayward, and even profligate, young fellow. There 
are stories of his having stolen deer from Sir Thomas 
Lucy's park, and of his having been severely punished by 
that magistrate for so doing. In revenge, he wrote some 
doggerel verses, making sport 
of Sir Thomas, and posted 
them on the park gate. Such 
was the wrath of the indig- 
nant squire, that Shakspeare, 
to escape from more serious 
persecution, deemed it expe- 
dient to leave Stratford. But 
there was another reason for 
his going away. When only 
eighteen years old he had 
foolishly married a farmer's 
daughter called Anne Hatha- 
way, a woman nearly eight 
years older than himself. The 
ill-matched pair seem to have been very unhappy ; for, 
after leaving her, he came but seldom to see her, and when 
he died he left her only *' his second best bed with the 
hangings.'' Susanna, the poet's favorite child, was born 
in 1583, and in the following year twins, Judith and Ham- 
net. The only son, Hamnet, died at twelve years of age ; 
his two daughters survived their illustrious father. 

Shakspeare went to London to seek his fortune. Soon 
after, he was invited to join the company at the Globe 




WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 



320 FIRST STEPS IX EXGLISH CLASSICS. 

Theatre. His duties were to prepare old plays for the 
stage, and to act occasionally when required. By and 
by he became one of the owners in this theatre, wrote 
splendid plays of his own, and became part proprietor of 
a new theatre, the Blackfriars, on the north side of the 
Thames. Such was his industry and success in the double 
capacity of actor and writer of plays, that in a few years 
he reaped the reward of his prudence, and became a wealthy 
man. He was able to buy an estate called New Place, 
near his native town, where he retired in 1611 to spend 
the remainder of his days. He died, after a short illness, 
on the 23d of April, the anniversary of his birthday, in 
16 1 6, having exactly completed his fifty-second year. He 
was buried in the parish church of Stratford. Shakspeare's 
private character seems to have been that of an ''amiable, 
gentle, and generous man, beloved by everybody except 
the very few who were jealous of his greatness." 

It would be in vain to try to enumerate all the charac- 
teristics of Shakspeare's poetr}', or to tell in how many 
respects he excels all other poets. He loved Nature, and 
his poetry contains the most exquisite pictures ; he studied 
the looks, the words, the actions, of the men and women he 
met, and his plays reflect them as in a mirror. The fame 
of Shakspeare rests almost solely upon his plays, usually 
reckoned as thirty-seven in number. These plays fall 
naturally into three classes, — tragedies, historical dramas, 
and comedies. The most celebrated tragedies are ]\Iac- 
beth, King Lear, Hamlet, Othello, and Romeo and Juliet. 
The most popular historical dramas are Henry V., Rich- 
ard H., Richard HI., Henry VHI., Julius Caesar, and An- 
tony and Cleopatra ; while the best-known comedies are 
The Merchant of Venice, The Merry Wives of Windsor, 



JJVLL/AM SHAKSPEARE. 321 

Midsummer Night's Dream, and As You Like It. The 
principal works of Shakspeare, besides his plays, are Venus 
and Adonis, Rape of Lucrece, and one hundred and fifty- 
four sonnets. 

The only account of Shakspeare's personal appearance 
that we have is contained in Aubrey's two lines : '''He was 
a handsome, well-shaped man, very good company, and of 
a very ready and pleasant and smooth wit." 



ON THE STUDY OF SHAKSPEARE. 



It is impossible to quote, in this book, enough of Shak- 
speare's text to be of any practical use ; therefore we quote 
nothing. The ordinary memory quotations and famous 
passages are easily found in any advanced reading-book 
or text-book of standard selections. School editions of 
the plays, admirably annotated, and sold for a nominal 
sum, are easily found. It is better for the young student 
to become familiar with one good play, like the Mer- 
chant of Venice, than to read passages here and there 
from many plays. 

Much depends upon the time assigned to the study of 
Shakspeare. The success or failure of the Shakspeare 
course may depend upon the plays selected, or even the 
first play. We have found the Merchant of Venice the 
best to begin with, followed by Julius Caesar, Richard III., 
and Macbeth. Richard Grant White advises the student 
to begin with the Tempest or As You Like It, then follow 
with Merchant of Venice and Much Ado About Nothing. 

Whatever time may be given to Shakspeare, the student 
should read and study certain well-known selections from 



322 



FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS, 



the great dramatist. After a whole play has been read, 
or even in the midst of it, renewed interest may be excited 
by reading some famous passage. For illustration we 
have chosen a few of the more famous and familiar pas- 
sages, to which many others can be added : — 





Passage. 


Play. 


Act. 


Sc. 


I. 


Queen Katherine's defence, 


Henry VIIL 


II. 


4 


2. 


Fall of Wolsey, 


He7try VIIL 


III. 


2 


3- 


Famous reference to Queen Elizabeth, 


Henry VIIL 


V. 


4 


4- 


Moonlight scene, 


Ro77ieo and Juliet, 


II. 


2 


5- 


Miranda and Ferdinand, 


Tempest. 


III. 


I 


6. 


Prince Arthur and Hubert, 


King John, 


IV. 


I 


7- 


Falstaff and Prince Hal, 


He7iry LV. 


II. 


4 


8. 


King Henry and his son, 


Henry LV. 


III. 


2 


9- 


The King's Censure, 


He7try LV, (2) 


IV. 


4 


10. 


Death of King John, 


King John, 


V. 


^.7 


II. 


Othello and lago, 


Othello. 


III. 


3 


12. 


Hermione's appeal, 


Wi7iter's Tale, 


III. 


2 


13- 


Trial of Othello, 


Othello. 


I. 


3 


14. 


Clarence's dream, 


Richard LLL. 


I. 


4 


15- 


Advice of Polonius, 


HaTnlet. 


I. 


3 


16. 


Antony's oration, 


yulius Ccesar. 


III. 


2 


17. 


Grief of Constance, 


Ki7ig Joint. 


III. 


4 


18. 


King Richard's soliloquy. 


Richa7'd 11. 


V. 


5 


19. 


Quarrel scene, 


Julius Ccesar. 


IV. 


3 


20. 


Sleep-walking scene. 


Macbeth. 


V. 


I 



Note. — Details concerning the study of Shakspeare may be found in " Study of 
the English Classics," chap. xvi. p. 199. The teacher may find valuable help in two 
articles in Hudson's '' English in Schools," entitled " Shakspeare as a Text-book," 
and " How to use Shakspeare in School." 

Consult also an article on '' Class-Room Study of Shakspeare," in Thorn's 
" Shakspeare's Examinations." 



JOHN MIL TON. 323 



CHAPTER XXII. 

JOHN MILTON (1608-1674). 

"The first place among our English poets is due to Milton." — Addison. 

" Milton, the poet, the statesman, the philosopher, the glory of English literature, 
the champion and the martyr of English liberty." — Macaulay. 

John Milton, the illustrious poet, was born in London 
in 1608. His father was a scrivener or writer, and money- 
lender, well-to-do in the world, and both anxious and ready 
to give his son a good education. From his earliest years 
Milton gave great promise of becoming a profound scholar 
and a splendid poet. He was educated at St. Paul's School, 
and at the age of sixteen entered Trinity College, Cam- 
bridge. Leaving Cambridge in 1632, he went to reside at 
his father's villa at Horton. He studied at this place for 
five years with severe application, devoting himself par- 
ticularly to the Greek and Roman classics. In the inter- 
vals of his studies he produced *' L' Allegro," ''II Pense- 
roso," and ''Comus." In 1637 he made a tour through 
France and Italy, and in the latter country cultivated the 
personal friendship of the leading Italian waiters of the 
time. He also had an interview with Galileo. On his 
return to England he founded a private boarding-school. 
It is said that he never received fees from his pupils, but 
undertook the work of education as a high moral duty, the 
discharge of which he felt incumbent upon him. 



324 



FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 



While ostensibly a private gentleman keeping a select 
school, he was virtually one of the leading spirits in the con- 
troversial age in which he lived ; he was its most able and 
most active political pamphleteer. In those times, before 
there were newspapers to express or to lead public opinion, 
the political pamphlet wielded an influence which it is diffi- 
cult for us now to realize. The full weight of Milton's lite- 
rary influence was thrown into the scales in favor of the 

Puritan party. His polemic- 
al disquisition was resistless. 
and his denunciation terri- 
ble. His reputation as a pam- 
phleteer — as a recognized 
political power in the realm 
— was known over Europe. 
In graceful recognition of his 
services he was appointed 
Latin Secretary to Cromwell 
in 1649. I^ thi^ capacity 
he was commissioned by the 
Council to write a '' Defence 
of the people of England," 
as the rejoinder to the '* De- 
by the celebrated philologist, 
Salmasius of Leyden. In the composition of this great 
work, which he wrote in Latin, his hitherto weak eyesight 
gave way, and he became utterly blind. He died in 1674. 

The Restoration was, of course, an ill-omened event to 
Milton. His pen had dealt sternly with the beheaded 
king, and he dared not to look for much mercy from his 
son. He hid himself in the house of a friend, and his 
political works were publicly burnt by the common hang- 




JOHN MILTON. 



fence of Charles the First, 



JOHN MILTON, 325 

man. He, however, escaped personal molestation. In 
poverty, blindness, and severe domestic affliction, he hid 
himself in an obscure part of London ; and there, in the 
winter of life, with hopes blasted and energies unrequited, 
he in his blindness dictated to his daughters his great epic^ 
*' Paradise Lost," which was published in 1667. 

A publisher could hardly be found at all sufficiently 
speculative to undertake the risk of producing the work ; 
and the sum of eighteen pounds was all that was ever 
received by the author and his family as their share of 
the profits of '^Paradise Lost." 

This great epic consists of twelve books, and is written 
in sonorous and stately blank verse. Its subject is an 
embellished and much-extended version of the Mosaic 
account of the fall of man, in which the author involves 
the expulsion from heaven of Satan and the rebel angels. 
It contains passages of overpowering eloquence, grandeur 
of conception, and transcendent sublimity of poetic range. 
The work is still largely read and copiously quoted. In 
our literature there is no parallel work ; no work, indeed, 
w^hich we are justified in mentioning either in comparison 
or contrast with it. 

The principal works of Milton to which we have not 
already referred are his Paradise Regained, Lycidas, Sam- 
son Agonistes, Ode to the Nativity, and Sonnets. His 
prose works, among which we may name his Areopagitica, 
Eikonoclastes, and History of England, were exceedingly 
numerous, and are sufficient of themselves to support no 
mean literary reputation. 

Milton was three times married ; and, upon the whole, 
his domestic life was an unhappy one. In his youth he 
was decidedly handsome, both in face and figure. His 



326 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

manners were simple and unaffected, and his morality 
austere and rigid. The following portraiture of the great 
poet is given by Fenton : " The color of his hair was a 
light brown, the symmetry of his features exact, enlivened 
with an agreeable air. His stature did not exceed the 
middle size, neither too lean nor corpulent. In his diet 
he was abstemious, not delicate in the choice of his dishes, 
and strong liquors of all kinds were his aversion. His 
deportment was erect, open, affable ; his conversation easy, 
cheerful, instructive ; his wit on all occasions at command, 
facetious, grave, or satirical, as the subject required." 



LYCIDAS. 



In this Mo?iody the Author bewails a learned friend^ ui2fo7'tuitately drowned 
in his passage front Chester on the Irish seas^ ^^37- And by occasion fore- 
tells the rui7i of our corrupted clergy^ the7i in their height. 

Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more, 
Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never-sere, 
I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, 
And with forced fingers rude 

Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. 5 

Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear, 
Compels me to disturb your season due : 
For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, 
Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer. 
Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew ^° 

Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme. 
He must not float upon his watery bier 
Unwept, and welter to the parching wind, 
Without the meed of some melodious tea^r. 

Begin, then, sisters of the sacred well, ^5 



JOHN MILTON. 327 

That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring ; 

Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string : 

Hence with denial vain, and coy excuse, 

So may some gentle Muse 

With lucky words favor my destined urn \ 20 

And as he passes turn. 

And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud. 

For we were nurst upon the self-same hill. 

Fed the same flock, by fountain, shade, and rill. 

Together both, ere the high lawns appeared 25 

Under the opening eyelids of the morn. 

We drove afield ; and both together heard 

What time the gray- fly winds her sultry horn, 

Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night, 

Oft till the star that rose at evening, bright, 30 

Towards heaven's descent had sloped his westering wheel. 

Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute. 

Tempered to the oaten flute \ 

Rough satyrs danced, and fauns with cloven heel 

From the glad sound would not be absent long, 35 

And old Damoetas loved to hear our song. 

But oh the heavy change, now thou art gone, — 
Now thou art gone, and never must return ! 
Thee shepherd, thee the woods, and desert caves. 
With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown, 4° 

And all their echoes mourn. 
The willows, and the hazel copses green, 
Shall now no more be seen, 
Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays. 
As killing as the canker to the rose, 45 

Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze. 
Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear, 
When first the white-thorn blows, — 
Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd's ear. 



328 FIRST STEPS TV ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

Where were ye, nymphs, when the remorseless deep 5^ 

Closed o'er the head of your loved Lycidas ? 

For neither were ye playing on the steep, 

Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie. 

Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high, 

Nor yet where Deva spreads her wdsard stream. ->5 

Ay me, I fondly dream ! 

Had ye been there ... for what could that have done? 

What could the ]\lu5e herself that Orpheus bore, — 

The ]\Iuse herself, for her enchanting son 

Whom universal Nature did lament, 60 

When by the rout that made the hideous roar 

His gory visage down the stream was sent, 

Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore ? 

Alas ! what boots it with incessant care 

To tend the homely slighted shepherd's trade, 65 

And strictly meditate the thankless ]\Iuse? 

Were it not better done as others use, 

To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, 

Or with the tangles of Neaera's hair ? 

Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise 7° 

(That last infirmity of noble mind). 

To scorn dehghts, and live laborious days ; 

But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, 

And think to burst out into sudden blaze. 

Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears, 75 

And slits the thin-spun life. '• But not the praise," 

Phoebus replied, and touched my trembling ears ; 

^' Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil. 

Nor in the glistering foil 

Set off to the world, nor in broad rumor lies ; So 

But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes. 

And perfet witness of all-judging Jove. 

As he pronounces lastly on each deed. 

Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed." 



JOHN MILTON, 329 

O fountain Arethuse, and thou honored flood, ^5 

Smooth- shding Mincius, crowned with vocal reeds, 
That strain I heard was of a higher mood ; 
But now my oat proceeds, 
And listens to the herald of the sea, 

That came in Neptune's plea ; 9° 

He asked the waves, and asked the felon winds, 
What hard mishap hath doomed this gentle swain? 
And questioned every gust of rugged wings 
That blows from off each beaked promontory ; 
They knew not of his story, 95 

And sage Hippotades their answer brings, 
That not a blast was from his dungeon strayed, 
The air w^as calm, and on the level brine 
Sleek Panope with all her sisters played.^ 
It was that fatal and perfidious bark, 100 

Built in the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark. 
That sunk so low that sacred head of thine. 

Next Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, 
His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge. 
Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge ^^S 

Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe. 
'' Ah ! who hath reft (quoth he) my dearest pledge ? " 
Last came, and last did go. 
The pilot of the Galilean lake ; 

Two massy keys he bore, of metals twain ^^° 

(The golden opes, the iron shuts amain). 
He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake : — 
" How well could I have spared for thee, young swain, 
Anow of such as for their bellies' sake 
Creep and intrude, and climb into the fold ! ^^5 

Of other care they little reckoning make 
Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast. 
And shove away the worthy bidden guest. 



330 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

Blind mouths, that scarce themsehTs know how to hold 

A sheephook, or have learned aught else the least ^20 

That to the faithful herdsman's art belongs ! 

What recks it them? What need they? They are sped ; 

And, when ^ they list, their lean and flashy songs 

Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw ; 

The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, 125 

But swoln with wind, and the rank mist they draw, 

Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread ; 

Besides what the grim wolf, with privy paw, 

Daily devours apace, and nothing sed ; 

But that two-handed engine at the door 130 

Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more." 

Return, Alpheus, the dread voice is past 
That shrunk thy streams ; return, Sicilian Muse, 
And call the vales, and bid them hither cast 
Their bells, and flowrets of a thousand hues. ^35 

Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use 
Of shades and wanton winds, and gushing brooks. 
On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks. 
Throw hither all your quaint enamelled eyes. 
That on the green turf suck the honeyed showers, H^ 

And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. 
Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies. 
The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, 
The white pink, and the pansy freakt with jet. 
The glowing violet, 145 

The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine ; 
With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, 
And every flower that sad embroidery wears ; 
Bid Amaranthus all his beauty shed. 

And daffadilhes fill their cups with tears, ^5° 

To strew the laureat hearse where Lycid lies ; 
For, so to interpose a httle ease, 



JOHN MILTON. 33 1 

Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise. 

Ay me ! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas 

Wash far away, where'er thy bones are hurled, ^55 

Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides, 

Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide 

Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous world ; 

Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied, 

Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old, i6o 

Where the great vision of the guarded mount 

Looks toward Namancos, and Bayona's hold ; 

Look homeward Angel now, and melt with ruth. 

And, O ye dolphins ! waft the hapless youth. 

Weep no more, woful shepherds, weep no more ; 165 

For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead. 
Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor : 
So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed ; 
And yet, anon, repairs his drooping head. 
And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore 170 

Flames in the forehead of the morning sky : 
So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high, 
Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves ; 
Where, other groves and other streams along, 
With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, 175 

And hears the unexpressive nuptial song. 
In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. 
There entertain him all the saints above, 
In solemn troops and sweet societies, 

That sing, and singing in their glory move, 180 

And wipe the tears forever from his eyes. 
Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more j 
Henceforth thou art the genius of the shore. 
In thy large recompense, and shalt be good 
To all that wander in that perilous flood. i^5 

Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills. 



332 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS, 

While the still morn went out with sandals gray; 

He touched the tender stops of various quills, 

With eager thought warbhng his Doric lay ; 

And now the sun had stretched out all the hills, 19° 

And now was dropt into the western bay ; 

At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue : 

To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new. 



ON HIS BLINDNESS. 

When I consider how my light is spent 

Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, 
And that one talent which is death to hide 
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent 
To serve therewith my Maker, and present 

My true account, lest He returning chide ; 

" Doth God exact day-labor, light denied ? " 
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent 
That murmur, soon replies, " God doth not need 

Either man's work, or his own gifts. Who best 

Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state 
Is kingly ; thousands at his bidding speed, 

And post o'er land and ocean without rest ; 

They also serve who only stand and wait. " 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 333 



CHAPTER XXIII. 

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH (1770-1850). 

" Thou wert as a lone star whose light did shine 
On some frail bark in winter's midnight roar ; 
Thou hast like to a rock-built refuge stood 
Above the blind and battling multitude ; 
In honored povert}^ thy voice did weave 
Songs consecrate to truth and liberty." — Shelley. 

" Whatever the world may think of me or my poetry, is now of little consequence ; 
but one thing is a comfort of my old age, that none of my works written since the 
days of my early youth, contains a line which I should wish to blot out because it 
panders to the baser passions of our nature. This is a comfort to me ; I can do no 
mischief by my works when I am gone." — William Wordsworth. 

Wordsworth was the great master of the Lake School, 
in which Coleridge and Southey were, after him, the most 
prominent members. The poets of that school took their 
subjects often from among the commonest things, and 
wrote their poems in the simplest style, choosing the or- 
dinary speech of educated people as the vehicle of their 
thoughts. They probably went too far in their disdain 
for the conventional subjects and ornaments of poetry ; 
but their principles were sound and healthful, and their 
labors made a deep and lasting impression on English 
thought. 

William Wordsworth was born on the 7th of April, 1770, 
at Cockermouth, in Cumberland, England, where his 



334 



FIRST STEPS TV EiXGLISH CLASSICS. 



father was a law agent. Both father and mother died 
while the poet ^vas yet a boy ; and when his school edu- 
cation was considered to be sufficiently advanced, he was 
sent, in 1787, to Cambridge University. There, during 
the four years of his undergraduate course, he read many 
books, and wrote poetry ; but he thought and felt the 
course of study to be narrow and irksome. Right wel- 
come, therefore, were the va- 
cations, which released him 
from its bonds. Then it was 
his delight to go on tours on 
the Continent. In 1790 he 
spent some time in Switzer- 
land and France, although 
the tempest of Revolution 
was then raging with great 
fury. In the following year, 
having graduated, he went 
again to France, Avith a soul 
on fire in her cause. There 
he stayed for fifteen months ; 
and there he might have per- 
ished by the guillotine had not his return to England, in 
1792, changed the current of his life. 

His friends wished him to enter the Church; but he 
was born to be a poet and nothing else. The love of po- 
etry was the grand passion of his heart, which grew and 
strengthened with the coming of more mature years. He 
made his first public appearance as a poet in 1793, when 
he published a modest volume entitled, ''Descriptive 
Sketches." This was followed in the same year by ''An 
Evening Walk." These poems revealed to thoughtful 




WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, 335 

minds the rise of a new star in the poetical heavens, which 
was destined to shed a brilliant lustre on the land. 

The need of earning a livelihood had turned Words- 
worth's thoughts to the study of law and to journalism. 
Before- he had settled anything, a young friend died, in 
1795, leaving him nine hundred pounds, with a pressing 
request that he would devote himself to poetry. That 
Wordsworth resolved to do. Settling down in Dorset- 
shire with his sister Dora, he wrote '' Salisbury Plain," and 
a tragedy called ^^The Borderers," which he failed to get 
put on the stage. Soon afterwards he made the acquaint- 
ance of Coleridge, and removed *to Alfoxden, in order to 
be near his new friend. The result of this alliance was 
the publication of a joint volume of ''Lyrical Ballads" in 
1798, to which Wordsworth contributed twenty-two poems, 
and Coleridge one, — '' The Ancient Mariner." The vol- 
ume was not a success. 

After a tour in Germany, Wordsworth settled with his 
sister in a cottage at Grasmere, in Cumberland, where he 
spent the next nine years. There he married Mary Hutch- 
inson in 1802, the "phantom of delight;" and there he 
began his great philosophical poem, ''The Excursion." 
His mind was relieved from anxiety about money matters 
by the payment to his family of a debt due to their father 
by the late Earl of Lonsdale. This settlement yielded 
eighteen hundred pounds each to Wordsworth and his 
sister. The young earl became the faithful friend of the 
poet, who afterwards dedicated to him his masterpiece, 
" The Excursion." 

In 1 81 3 Wordsworth removed to Rydal Mount, in sight 
of those beautiful lakes and under the shadow of those 
old hills which have become inseparably associated with 



336 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

his name. In that well-known '^cottage-like building, al- 
most hidden by a profusion of roses and ivy," from whose 
grassy lawn a silver gleam of Windermere could be caught, 
the poet spent the greater part of his long life. About 
the same time he received, through the influence of his 
friend, Lord Lonsdale, the office of Distributer of Stamps 
for the County of Westmoreland, with a salary of five 
hundred pounds, and no very heavy duties attached to it. 

In 1814 ''The Excursion" was published. It brought 
its author very little money, and a good deal of abuse. 
This grand poem is only a fragment, a part of a vast 
moral epic to have been -called " The Recluse," in which 
the poet intended to discuss the human soul in its deepest 
workings and its loftiest relations. Its original unpopu- 
larity must be ascribed in part to the absence of dramatic 
life and the want of human interest, and in part to the nov- 
elty of embodying metaphysical reasoning in blank verse. 

Even now, though Wordsworth's popularity has grown 
immensely, *'The Excursion" is read by few. Yet it is 
not all a web of subtile reasoning, for there are rich 
studies from nature and from life scattered plentifully 
over its more thoughtful groundwork. The chief re- 
maining works of this great writer are, " The White Doe 
of Rylstone," a tragic tale founded on the ruin of a 
Northern family in the Civil War; "Peter Bell," a re- 
markable specimen of the style of the Lake School, which 
he dedicated to Southey ; " Sonnets on the River Dud- 
don ; " "The Waggoner," dedicated to Charles Lamb; 
"Memorials of a Tour on the Continent;" "Ecclesiasti- 
cal Sonnets;" " Yarrow Revisited ; " and "The Prelude," 
a fragment of autobiography, describing the growth of a 
poet's mind. 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 337 

Wordsworth is best known on account of his minor 
poems, which display his genius in its simple beauty and 
unaffected grace. Such are ''Ruth," a touching tale of 
love and madness ; ''We are Seven," a glimpse of that 
higher wisdom which the lips of childhood often utter ; 
the classic " Laodama," clear-lined and graceful as an an- 
tique cameo ; and the lines on " Revisiting the Wye," 
which are so rich in the calmly eloquent philosophy that 
formed the groundwork of all he wrote. In 1842 Words- 
worth, then past seventy, resigned his public office to his 
son, and received a pension of three hundred pounds a 
year. In 1843, on the death of his friend Southey, he suc- 
ceeded to the laureateship. Seven years later he sank into 
the grave, dying a few days after completing his eightieth 
year, April 23, 1850. His remains were laid in the church- 
yard of Grasmere, beside those of his beloved daughter, 
who had been taken from him three years before. 

Wordsworth was a man of tall, ample, well-proportioned 
frame, a grave and tranquil manner, a Roman 'cast of 
appearance, and a Roman dignity and simplicity. De 
Quincey says that " his face made amends for greater de- 
fects of figure ; it was the noblest for intellectual effects 
that I have ever seen. It was a face of a long order. 
The forehead was remarkable for its breadth and expan- 
sive development. His eyes were not bright, lustrous, or 
piercing ; but I ha,ve seen them assume an appearance the 
most solemn and spiritual that is possible for the human 
eye to wear." 



338 FlfxST STEPS IN EXGLISH CLASSICS. 



ODE. 

IXTIMATIOXS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
EARLY CHILDHOOD. 

I. 

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, 
The earth, and every common sight 
To me did seem 
Apparelled in celestial light. 
The glory and the freshness of a dream. 5 

It is not now as it has been of yore ; — 
Turn wheresoe'er I mav, 
By night or day. 
The things which I have seen I now can see no more ! 

II. 

The rainbow comes and goes, 10 

And lovely is the rose ; 

The moon doth with delight 
Look round her when the heavens are bare ; 

Waters on a starry night 

Are beautiful and fair ; 15 

The sunshine is a glorious birth; 
But yet I know, where'er I go, 
That there hath past away a glory from the earth. 

III. 

Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, 

And while the vouns; lambs bound 20 

As to the tabor's sound, 
To me alone there came a thought of grief ; 
A timely utterance gave that thought relief, 

And I again am strong. 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, 339 

The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep ; 25 
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong. 
I hear the echoes through the mountains throng, 
The winds come to me from the fields of sleep, 
And all the earth is gay ; 

Land and sea 30 

Give themselves up to jollity, 

And with the heart of May 
Doth every beast keep holiday ! 
Thou child of joy, 
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy 
shepherd boy ! 35 

IV. 

Ye blessed creatures, I have heard the call 

Ye to each other make ; I see 
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee ; 
My heart is at your festival. 

My head hath its coronal ; 40 

The fulness of your bliss, I feel — I feel it all. 

Oh, evil day ! if I were sullen 

While the earth herself is adorning 
This sweet ^lay morning ,• 

And the children are pulling, 45 

On every side, 

In a thousand vallevs far and wide, 

Fresh flowers ; while the sun shines warm. 
And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm : — 

I hear, I hear, with joy I hear ! 50 

But there's a tree, of many, one, 
A single field which I have look'd upon. 
Both of them speak of something that is gone ; 

The pansy at my feet 

Doth the same tale repeat. 55 



340 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS, 

Whither is fled the visionary gleam ? 
Where is it now, the glory and the dream ? 



Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting : 
The soul that rises with us, our life's star, 

Hath had elsewhere its setting, 60 

And Cometh from afar ; 
Not in entire forgetfulness. 
And not in utter nakedness. 
But trailing clouds of glory do we come 

From God, who is our home. 65 

Heaven lies about us in our infancy ! 
Shades of the prison-house begin to close 

Upon the growing boy. 
But he beholds the light, and whence it flows, — 

He sees it in his joy ; 70 

The youth, who daily farther from the east 
Must travel, still is Nature's priest, 
And by the vision splendid 
Is on his way attended ; 
At length the man perceives it die away, 75 

And fade into the light of common day. 

VI. 

Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own ; 
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind. 
And, even with something of a mother's mind, 

And no unworthy aim, 80 

The homely nurse doth all she can 
To make her foster-child, her inmate man. 

Forget the glories he hath known. 
And that imperial palace whence he came. 



WILLI A M WORDS WORTH, 34 1 



VII. 

Behold the child among his new-born blisses, 85 

A six years' darling of a pigmy size ! 

See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, 

Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, 

With light upon him from his father's eyes ! 

See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, 90 

Some fragment from his dream of human life, 

Shaped by himself with newly-learned art — 

A wedding or a festival, 

A mourning or a funeral ; 

And this hath now his heart, 95 

And unto this he frames his song : 
Then will he fit his tongue 
To dialogues of business, love, or strife ; 

But it will not be long 

Ere this be thrown aside, 100 

And with new joy and pride 
The little actor cons another part. 
Filling from time to time his ' ' humorous stage '^ 
With all the persons, down to palsied age. 
That Life brings with her in her equipage ; 105 

As if his whole vocation 

Were endless imitation. 



VIII. 

Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie 

Thy soul's immensity ; 
Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep 
Thy heritage ; thou eye among the blind, 
That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, 
Haunted for ever by the eternal mind, — 



342 FIRST STEPS IN- ENGLISH CLASSICS, 

Mighty Prophet ! Seer blest ! 

On whom those truths do rest, 115 

Which we are toiling all our lives to find ; 
In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave ; 
Thou, over whom thy immortality 
Broods like the day, a master o'er a slave, 
A presence which is not to be put by ; 120 

— Thou little child, yet glorious in the might 
Of heaven-born freedom, on thy being's height. 
Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke 
The years to bring the inevitable yoke. 
Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife ? 125 

Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly freight, 
And custom lie upon thee with a weight. 
Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life ! 

IX. 

O joy, that in our embers 

Is something that doth live, 130 

That Nature yet remembers 
What w^as so fugitive ! 
The thought of our past years in me doth breed 
Perpetual benedictions, not indeed 

For that which is most worthy to be blest — 135 

Delight and liberty, the simple creed 
Of childhood,' whether busy or at rest. 
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast ; 
Not for these I raise 
The song of thanks and praise ; 140 

But for those obstinate questionings 
Of sense and outw^ard things, 
Fallings from us, vanishings ; 
Blank misgivings of a creature 
Moving about in worlds not realized, 145 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 343 

High instincts, before which our mortal nature 
Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised: 
But for those first affections, 
Those shadowy recollections. 

Which, be they what they may, 150 

Are yet the fountain light of all our day, 
Are yet a master light of all our seeing, 

Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make 
Our noisy years seem moments in the being 
Of the eternal silence ; truths that wake, 155 

To perish never ; 
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavor, 

Nor man nor boy. 
Nor all that is at enmity with joy. 

Can utterly abolish or destroy ! 160 

Hence in a season of calm weather. 
Though inland far we be. 
Our souls have sight of that immortal sea 
Which brought us hither ; 
Can in a moment travel thither, 165 

And see the children sport upon the shore, 
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. 



Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song ! 

And let the young lambs bound 

As to the tabor's sound ! 170 

We in thought will join your throng. 

Ye that pipe and ye that play. 

Ye that through your hearts to-day 

Feel the gladness of the May ! 
What though the radiance which was once so bright 175 
Be now for ever taken from my sight. 

Though nothing can bring back the hour 



344 FIRST STEPS IX EXGLISH CLASSICS. 

Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower ; 

We will grieve not. rather find 

Strength in what remains behind, iSo 

In the primal sympathy 

Which having been, must ever be ; 

In the soothing thoughts that spring 

Out of human suffering; 

In the faith that looks through death, 1S5 

In years that bring the philosophic mind. 

XI. 

And O ve fountains, meadows, hills, and o-roves, 

Forebode not any severing of our loves ! 

Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might ; 

I only have relinquished one delight, 190 

To live beneath your more habitual sway. 

I love the brooks, which dow^n their channels fret, 

Even more than when I tripp'd lightly as they : 

The innocent brightness of a new-born day 

Is lovely yet : 195 

The clouds that gather round the setting sun 
Do take a sober coloring from an eye 
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality! 
Another race hath been, and other palms are won. 
Thanks to the human heart by which we live, 200 

Thanks to its tenderness, its joys and fears, 
To me the meanest flower that blows can give 
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. 



LAODAMIA. 

" With sacrifice, before the rising morn. 
Vows have I made, by fruitless hope inspired ; 
And from the infernal gods, 'mid shades forlorn 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, 345 

Of night, my slaughtered lord have I required ; 

Celestial pity I again implore •; — 5 

Restore him to my sight — great Jove, restore ! '^ 

So speaking, and by fervent love endowed 

With faith, the suppliant heavenward lifts her hands ; 

While, like the sun emerging from a cloud. 

Her countenance brightens, and her eye expands, 10 

Her bosom heaves and spreads, her stature grows, 

And she expects the issue in repose. 

O terror ! w^hat hath she perceived? O joy ! 

What doth she look on — whom doth she behold? 

Her hero slain upon the beach of Troy? 15 

His vital presence — his corporeal mould ? 

It is — if sense deceive her not — 'tis he ! 

And a god leads him, winged Mercury ! 

Mild Hermes spake — and touched her with his wand 

That calms all fear : '^ Such grace hath crowned thy prayer, 20 

Laodamia ! that at Jove's command 

Thy husband walks the paths of upper air : 

He comes to tarry with thee three hours' space ; 

Accept the gift ; behold him face to face ! " 

Forth sprang the impassion'd queen her lord to clasp ; 25 

Again that consummation she essayed ; 

But unsubstantial form eludes her grasp 

As often as that eager grasp was made. 

The phantom parts — but parts to reunite, 

And reassume his place before her sight. 3° 

^' Protesilaus, lo ! thy guide is gone ! 
Confirm, I pray, the vision with thy voice ; 
This is our palace, — yonder is thy throne ; 



346 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS 

Speak, and the floor thou tread'st on will rejoice. 

Not to appal me have the gods bestow'd 35 

This precious boon, and blest a sad abode." 

'' Great Jove, Laodamia, doth not leave 

His gifts imperfect : — Spectre though I be, 

I am not sent to scare thee or deceive, 

But in reward of thy fidelity ; 40 

And something also did my worth obtain, 

For fearless virtue bringeth boundless gain. 

'' Thou knowest, the Delphic oracle foretold 

That the first Greek that touched the Trojan strand 

Should die ; but me the threat could not withhold : * 45 

A generous cause a victim did demand ; 

And forth I leapt upon the sandy plain, 

A self-devoted chief — by Hector slain." 

''Supreme of heroes — bravest, noblest, best! 

Thy matchless courage I bewail no more, 50 

Which then, when tens of thousands were deprest 

By doubt, propelled thee to the fatal shore ; 

Thou found 'st — and I forgive thee — here thou art — 

A nobler counsellor than my poor heart. 

'^ But thou, though capable of sternest deed, 55 

Wert kind as resolute, and good as brave ; 

And he, whose power restores thee, hath decreed 

Thou should* St elude the malice of the grave : 

Redundant are thy locks, thy lips as fair 

As when their breath enriched Thessalian air. 60 

" No spectre greets me. — no vain shadow this ; 
Come, blooming hero, place thee by my side ! 
Give, on this well-known couch, one nuptial kiss 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, 347 

To me, this day a second time thy bride ! '' 

Jove frown'd in heaven ; the conscious Parcae threw 65 

Upon those roseate hps a Stygian hue. 

" This visage tells me that my doom is past ; 

Nor should the change be mourned, even if the joys 

Of sense were able to return as fast 

And surely as they vanish. Earth destroys 70 

Those raptures duly — ^ Erebus disdains: 

Calm pleasures there abide — majestic pains. 

" Be taught, O faithful consort, to control 

Rebellious passion ; for the gods approve 

The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul, 75 

A fervent, not ungovernable, love. 

Thy transports moderate ; and meekly mourn 

When I depart, for brief is my sojourn." 

^' Ah, wherefore ? — Did not Hercules by force 

Wrest from the guardian monster of the tomb 80 

Alcestis, a reanimated corse. 

Given back to dwell on earth in vernal bloom ? 

Medea's spells dispersed the weight of years. 

And ^son stood a youth 'mid youthful peers. 

*' The gods to us are merciful — and they 85 

Yet further may relent ; for mightier far 

Than strength of nerve and sinew, or the sway 

Of magic, potent over sun and star. 

Is love — though oft to agony distrest. 

And though his favorite seat be feeble woman's breast. 90 

"But if thou goest, I follow" — "Peace," he said — 
She looked upon him and was calmed and cheered ; 
The ghastly color from his lips had fled ; 



348 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

In his deportment, shape, and mien, appeared 

Elysian beauty, melancholy grace, 95 

Brought from a pensive though a happy place. 

He spake of love, such love as spirits feel 

In worlds whose course is equable and pure ; 

No fears to beat away — no strife to heal — 

The past unsighed for, and the future sure ; 100 

Spake of heroic arts in graver mood 

Revived, with finer harmony pursued, 

Of all that is most beauteous — imaged there 

In happier beauty, more pellucid streams, 

An ampler ether, a diviner air, 105 

And fields invested with purpureal gleams, 

Climes which the sun. who sheds the brightest day 

Earth knows, is all unworthy to survey. 

Yet there the soul shall enter which hath earned 

That privilege by virtue.^" Ill," said he, no 

*' The end of man's existence I discerned. 

Who from ignoble games and revelry 

Could draw, when we had parted, vain delight. 

While tears were thy best pastime, day and night, 

" And while my youthful peers, before my eyes, 115 

(Each hero following his peculiar bent) 

Prepared themselves for glorious enterprise 

By martial sports, — or, seated in the tent, 

Chieftains and kings in council were detained, 

What time the fleet at Aulis lay enchained. 120 

^' The wished-for wind was given : — I then revolved 

The oracle upon the silent sea ; 

And, if no worthier led the way, resolved 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, 349 

That of a thousand vessels, mine should be 

The foremost prow m pressing to the strand, — 125 

Mine the first blood that tinged the Trojan sand. 

" Yet bitter, ofttimes bitter, was the pang 

When of thy loss I thought, beloved wife ; 

On thee too fondly did my memory hang. 

And on the joys we shared in mortal life, — 130 

The paths which we had trod — these fountains, — flowers; 

My new-planned cities, and unfinished towers. 

^' But should suspense permit the soul to cry, 

* Behold, they tremble 1 — haughty their array, 

Yet of their number no one dares to die ' 1 — 135 

In soul I swept the indignity away : 

Old frailties then recurred : — but lofty thought, 

In act embodied, my deliverance wrought. 

^' And thou, though strong in love, art all too weak 

In reason, in self-government too slow ; 140 

I counsel thee by fortitude to seek 

Our blest reunion in the shades below. 

The invisible world with thee hath sympathized; 

Be thy affections raised and solemnized. 

*' Learn by a mortal yearning to ascend 145 

Seeking a higher object : — Love was given, 

Encouraged, sanctioned, chiefly for that end. 

For this the passion to excess was driven — 

That self might be annulled ; her bondage prove 

The fetters of a dream, opposed to love." 150 

Aloud she shrieked ! — for Hermes reappears ! 

Round the dear shade she would have clung — 'tis vain : 

The hours are past, — too brief had they been years ; 



3 so FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

And him no mortal effort can detain : 

Swift, toward the reahns that know not earthly day, 155 

He through the portal takes his silent way, 

And on the palace-floor a lifeless corse she lay. 

Thus, all in vain exhorted and reproved, 

She perished ; and, as for a wilful crime 

By the just gods whom no weak pity moved, 160 

Was doomed to wear out her appointed time, 

Apart from happy ghosts, that gather flowers ^ 

Of blissful quiet 'mid unfading bowers. 

Yet tears to human suffering are due ; 

And mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown 165 

Are mourned by man, and not by man alone, 

As fondly he believes. — Upon the side 

Of Hellespont (such faith was entertained) 

A knot of spiry trees for ages grew 

From out the tomb of him for whom she died; 170 

And ever, when such stature they had gained 

That Ilium's walls were subject to their view. 

The trees' tall summits withered at the sight — 

A constant interchange of growth and blight ! 



MISCELLANEOUS SUBJECTS. 351 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

MISCELLANEOUS SUBJECTS IN ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
I. MISCELLANEOUS TOPICS. 

The following topics are intended to be used for exam- 
ination and review questions ; also as subjects for essays, 
discussions, and familiar talks.' 

1. Mention and describe three English literary productions previous to 
the time of Chaucer. 

2. When did Chaucer live ? Name his greatest work, and give an analysis 
of its plan. 

3. Sketch briefly the plan of the Canterbury Tales. What eminent 
literary men were living in England at the time of Chaucer? 

4. Give a brief outline of the rise and progress of the English drama 
previous to Shakspeare. 

5. Tell the chief facts in the life of Shakspeare. Name ten of his 
dramas. 

6. Give a brief account of the development of the drama, from its most 
primitive form to the time of Shakspeare. 

7. Name three great writers of the age of Queen Elizabeth ; also one 
of the leading works of each. 

8. Of whom was it said, " The wisest, brightest, meanest of mankind," 
and who said it ? 

9. Mention three leading works of the author of the above quotation. 

10. Name the novelists and historians of Dr. Johnson's time, with their 
works. 

^ For a most complete series of questions on English literature, the teacher is 
referred to Louise Maertz's New Method for the Study of English Literature (with 
Key), price Si.oo.- 



y:,2 FIRST STEPS IX EXGIISH CLASSICS. 

11. Give an account of Goldsmith and his works, particularly The Deserted 
\'illage. 

12. Peculiarities of Cowper as a man and a writer. 

13. Xame the principal writers contemporary with Scott, and their works. 

14. Xame the author of each of the following works, and mention another 
work by each author : Areopagitica, Annus Mirabilis, The Tale of a Tub, 
English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, Lay of the Last Minstrel, Rasselas, 
Essays of Elia, Sketch-Book, Marble Faun, American Flag, Evangeline, 
Biglovr Papers, The Task, The Rivals, Tam O'Shanter, Marmion, The 
Giaour. 

15. Quote from each of the following works, naming the authors : Deserted 
Village, Essay on Man, Bard, Lady of the Lake. 

16. When, and by whom, were the following books written? Robinson 
Crusoe, Gulliver's Travels, Pickwick Papers, Faery Queen, In Memoriam. 

17. Quote a passage from each of the following works, name the author, 
point out some of his characteristics as a writer, and tell how this work ranks 
among the author's other writings: Lady of the Lake, Locksley Hall, We 
are Seven, Elegy in a Country Churchyard. 

iS. Mention three additional works by the author of [Marmion, and two 
by the author of The Giaour. 

19. \\'ho were the great literary impostors of the latter half of the 
eighteenth century ? 

20. Give an account of the life of the greatest Scotch poet, and mention 
two of his poems. 

21. Who were the so-called ''Lake School" poets? Mention an impor- 
tant poem by each. 

22. Mention three leading English historians and two American historians 
of the nineteenth century ; also the leading work of each. 

23. Mention five modern English novelists, also one novel written by each. 

24. It is said that Goldsmith might with propriety be called a novelist, 
a poet, and an historian. Mention a work written by him in each of these 
departments. 

25. ^Mention the five first great English novelists; name one work of 
each. 

26. Xame the three historical writers of the eighteenth century, the lead- 
ing work of each, and the defects of these historians. 

27. Give a brief account of Coleridge's life. Quote from his works. 

28. State fully the incidents and peculiarities of stsde of The Ancient 
Mariner. 

29. Give ji'^7/r (?7d';^ impressions of the poetry of Scott, as compared with 
that of other poets of about the same period. 



MISCELLANEOUS SUBJECTS. 353 

30. Write a brief account of the life and writings of Robert Burns. 
Name five of his best-known works, and point out their peculiar merits. 
Name six great writers contemporary with him. 

31. Compare and contrast the genius and the style of Macaulay and 
Carlyle. Name three great works written by each. 

32. Which is the greater novelist, — Charlotte Bronte, or George Eliot? 
Substantiate the view you hold by reference to the ablest novels of each. 

33. What place among English writers would you assign to the following 
names t Burke, Cowper, Bunyan, Johnson, Jonson, De Quincey, Shelley, 
Collins, Addison. Give your reasons for assigning them the places you do. 

34. Name two works written by each of the following authors, and give 
your opinion of the literary merit of each work : Defoe, Swift, Thomson, 
Goldsmith. 

35. Who were the two greatest English novelists of the present century? 
Characterize the genius of each. In what respect do they differ from each 
other ? Name the five best works of each. 

36. Who were the two greatest historians of the last century ? Name the 
best works of each, and give your opinion of their literary merit. 

-t;]. In what has Shakspeare excelled all other writers ? 

38. From what source did Shakspeare obtain the plot of the play of 
Macbeth ? Give a short quotation from the play. What was Lady Macbeth's 
character ? 

39. Write a sketch of Shakspeare's life, and give the different classifica- 
tions of his works, naming examples of each class. 

40. Give the names and works of five writers who lived between the time 
of Chaucer and that of Spenser. 

41. Name and classify the writers of the Elizabethan age. 

42. What was the character of the English ballad ? 

43. Describe the "Miracle Plays" and the *'Moralites." 

44. Name the celebrated contemporaries of Shakspeare. 

45. When, and by whom, was the first translation of the Scriptures into 
English made ? 

46. Name Spenser's great allegorical poem. Describe the Spenserian 
stanza. Name two other writers of allegory. 

47. What is a drama ? Name the most celebrated writers of dramatic 
poetry. 

48. Name the author of each of the following : Every Man in His Humor, 
Novum Organum, The Purple Island, Gulliver's Travels, and Rape of the 
Lock. How do the above-named productions differ in style ? 

49. Give a brief account of the literary labors of Joseph Addison, Richard 
Steele, and Samuel Johnson. Compare Addison's style with that of Johnson. 



354 FIRST STEPS TV EXGTISH CTASSICS. 

50. Name the principal productions of the following writers : Hume, 
Gibbon, Robertson, ^Slacaula}', Irving, Prescott, Bancroft, and Motley. 

51. Describe the events that, in the early years of the sixteenth centurv, 
exerted chiefly a literary influence in England, and mention the names of 
the most distinguished authors of the times referred to. 

52. In what respects are the works of Lord Surrey interesting in the 
history of English literature ? 

53. Give some account of the rise and progress of the English drama. 

54. What conditions were favorable to the cultivation of literature in the 
reign of Elizabeth ? 

55. Mention the principal literary works that belong to the reign of James 
I. and Charles I., and to the period of the Commonwealth and Protecto- 
rate. 

56. Give the author of each of the following works, the centur}^ in which 
it was written, and the department of literature in which it should be classed : 
Essay on Criticism, Ancient Mariner, Cotter's Saturday Night, Vicar of 
Wakefield, Rasselas, Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, Cato, Gulliver's 
Travels, Faery Queen, and Oliver Twist. 

57. The same for the following works : The Bard, Castle of Indolence, 
Lays of Ancient Rome, The Newcomes, L'topia, Childe Harold, Absalom 
and Achitophel, Hudibras, Worthies of England, and Novum Organum. 

58. Twelve great authors from Chaucer to Tennyson, with their contem- 
poraries, with quotations. 

59. Quotations from Hamlet, Macbeth, Merchant of Venice, Julius 
Caesar, and Henrv* VIII. 

60. What was the character of the literature of the period of the 
Restoration ? 

61. Who were the chief writers of Queen Anne's reign? 

62. Name the historical writers of the eighteenth century. 

63. Mention the principal works in Anglo-Saxon poetry and prose. 

64. What are the qualities that are chiefly characteristic of Anglo-Saxon 
literature, and the causes thereof ? 

65. Mention the principal historical conditions that in the fifteenth century 
were, in England, unfavorable to the cultivation of learning. 

66. What essayists can you name ? Who wrote Childe Harold, The 
Pleasures of Hope, The Curse of Kehama, Pendennis, Aurora Leigh } 

Gy. What were the distinguishing characteristics of the Elizabethan 
period of English literature ? Name ten authors of this period, with one 
work of each. 

68. Describe the stanza in which the Cotter's Saturday Night is written. 
W^hat remarkable poems have been written in this stanza ? 



I 



MISCELLANEOUS SUBJECTS. 35 S 

69. Mention the points of resemblance between the Poem of Caedmon 
and the Paradise Lost. 

70. Where will you find literary reference to Rill from the Town Pump, 
Tiny Tim, Rebecca, Gulliver, Micawber, Man Friday, Moll Flanders, Female 
Martyr, Rip Van Winkle, Loss of the Royal George, Thanatopsis, Famous 
Attack on Christianity, Hymn on the Nativity, Stella and Vanessa, Walter 
Raleigh, Little Nell, Jeanie Deans, Boz, Geoffrey Crayon, George Eliot, 
Fanny Fern, Heathen Chinee, Eva, W^izard of the North, Sam Weller, 
Florence Percy, Alice and Phoebe Cary, Old Manse, James T. Fields, Ik 
Marvel, Mrs. Partington, Will Carleton, Bret Harte, Raven, Biglow Papers, 
Bob Acres, Angelic Doctor, Mrs. Bardell, Bridge of Sighs, Brobdingnag, 
Castle of Indolence, Chevy Chase, Coelebs, Elia, Elaine ; Bards of Avon, 
Ayrshire, Hope, Memory, Olney, Rydal Mount, Twickenham, " Barkis is 
willinV' Sir John Barleycorn, Battle of the Kegs, ' Currer Bell,' Benedick, 
English Opium-Eater, English Rabelais, Uncle Toby, Topsy, Shakspeare 
of Divines, Ettrick Shepherd, Fagin, John Gilpin, Rosamond, Auld Robin 
Gray, Great Magician, Grub Street, Nut-brown Maid, Mab, Excalibur, Pamela, 
Dr. Primrose, Quaker Poet, Robin Hood, Prisoner of Chillon, Captain 
Bobadil, Bower of Bliss, Bozzy, Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq., Sir Giles Overreach, 
Red-Cross Knight ? 

71. Mention ten prominent American authors, — three poets, five writers 
of fiction, and two historians, — and name one work by each of the authors 
you have mentioned. 

72. Contrast Longfellow's poetry with that of Whittier. Compare 
Prescott's writings with those of Irving. 

']^. Who wrote the following t The Culprit Fay, Hyperion, Adsum, Poems 
of Two Friends, The Blind Preacher, The Winged Worshippers, Uncle 
Tom's Cabin, Walden, Battle Hymn of the Republic, Dirge for Two 
Veterans. 

74. Give a brief account of O. W. Holmes ; name his principal works, 
and state the prevailing characteristics of his writings. 

75. Name five of the best-known female writers of the present day. 

76. In what work do we find each of the following characters t Leather- 
stocking, W^outer Van Twiller, Baltus Von Slingerland, Bernard Langdon, 
Peggotty, Pied Piper of Hamelin. 

77. Tell what you can about the life of Longfellow. Name his most 
noted works. 

78. Who wrote the following } The Bridge of Sighs, The Deserted 
Village, Thanatopsis, Snow-Bound, The Alhambra, Locksley Hall, The 
House of Seven Gables, Paul Revere's Ride, Evangeline, Rab and his 
Friends, Romoia. 



356 FIRST STEPS TV EXGLISH CLASSICS, 

79. Write a brief essay on the poetry of Whittier. 

80. What class of works did Prescott write ? How does his st\-le com« 
pare with that of other authors of the same class ? 

Si. In what works do we find the following characters: Elsie Venner, 
Dr. Frin.rose, Priscilla, Mabel Martin, Father Felician ? Name the authors. 

52. Into what three periods is the history of American literature divided? 
Tell what form of literary composition flourished most in each of these 
periods, and give the name of one great writer belonging to each period. 

53. Mention some of the principal causes that tend to retard the develop^ 
ment of a national literature in the United States. 

84. Name in the order of their merit the five ablest American writers of 
fiction. 

11. -AIDS TO MEMOEY. 

It will be found an excellent plan, at the beginning of 
a course of study, to select a certain number of great 
authors to stand as representatives of our literature at 
certain periods of its history^ and to group around each 
one of them other less famous but still prominent names. 
Let the date of the birth or death of these representa- 
tive authors selected be carefully committed to memory. 
Twelve or fifteen dates are enough for practical purposes. 
Having thus associated these dates with the authors, let 
them serve as ''landmarks" to guide the student in his 
subsequent studies, — as '*pegs" on which to hang literary 
facts, minor authors, historical events, etc. It is surpris- 
ing how readily important facts, dates, and events may 
thus be retained in memorv bv associatinsr them with a 
few well-committed dates as a basis. ^ 

The fact that Goldsmith died in 1774 might be soon 
forgotten ; but associate it with the battle of Lexington, 
and we retain it easily in the memory. What famous 

^ -I: is well to know also that nothing so helps the memory as association of 
ideas. It is easier to remember six facts that are connected with each other than 
a single ( ne that seems to be connected with nothing else." — W. W. Skeat. 



MISCELLANEOUS SUBJECTS, 357 

authors might have witnessed the great fire and plague in 
London, in 1665 and 1666? Remember that Shakspeare 
died (1616) four years before the Pilgrims landed at Plym- 
outh, and that Milton was born (1608) one year after 
Jamestown was settled. 

The first Waverley novel was published (18 14) a few 
months before the battle of Waterloo, and ^^ Paradise 
Lost " was finished the same year of the Great London 
Fire (1665). Bunyan was born the same year that Harvey 
discovered the circulation of the blood (1628). Napoleon 
crossed the Alps, and Cowper died, the same year (1800)0 
Dryden was born one year after Boston was founded 
(163 1). Gen. Wolfe's memorable victory at Quebec took 
place the same year that Burns was born (1759). 

The ingenuity of the pupil will readily supply any num- 
ber of historical events with which the requisite literary 
facts may be associated. 

To illustrate, we give the following dates: — 

Chaucer, 1400; Spenser, 1600; Shakspeare, 1616; Milton, 1674; 
Dryden, 1700; Addison, 1719; Pope, 1744; Goldsmith, 1774; Cowper, 
1800; Byron, 1824 j Irving, 1859; Longfellow, 1882. 

Illustration. 

Goldsmith, 1728-74. — Oliver Goldsmith died in middle life, one year 
before the battle of Lexington. He was four years old when Washington 
was born. He was two years older than Burke, and three years older than 
Cowper, while Dr. Johnson was nineteen years older, and yet lived ten years 
after his genial friend died. Burns was a lad of fifteen when Goldsmith died. 
A young girl named Horneck was a great favorite with her Irish would-be 
lover. This lady outlived Goldsmith many years; and Irving, who died in 
1859, while in England had a conversation with this lady, then quite aged, 
about the famous friends of her youth. Goldsmith associated with many cele- 
brated men; among them were Dr. Johnson, Reynolds, Garrick, and Burke. 
He was contemporary with Collins, Gibbon, Hume, Sterne, and Gray. 



358 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS. 



III. — THE "MONUMENT" OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

In order to obtain a comprehensive grouping of the 
standard authors, and to fix in the memory the principal 
facts in history, and their relation to the great authors of 
any particular age, we may make use of a diagram which 
may be called a "monument'' of English literature. It 
serves quite well to impress upon the mind the names, 
dates, principal events, etc. 

The following diagram is to be copied into the note- 
book, the names and dates thoroughly committed to mem- 
ory, and in due time should be made the subject of a 
blackboard exercise. After the whole has been mastered, 
the pupil should be instructed to fill in, orally, literary, 
biographical, and historical facts. Let the chosen authors 
and dates on the monument be used like pegs in the hall- 
rack, on which to hang a variety of valuable facts without 
any risk of confusion. 

Illustration. 

Addison, 1672-1719. — Joseph Addison, one of England's great classical 
prose writers, was born in 1672, the same year with Peter the Great, and six 
years after the great London fire. Addison was three years older than Sir 
Richard Steele, his life-long and intimate friend. At this time Swift was 
five years old, while Addison was a small boy of only two years, when Milton 
died. The first number of "The Spectator " was issued in 1711, the same 
year that the ruins of Herculaneum v/ere discovered. Among the ce: ebrated 
persons whom Addison might have seen were Swift, Defoe, Richardson, 
William Penn, Fielding, Sir Isaac Newton, Murillo, Handel, Prior, Gay, 
Sterne, Pope, Lady Montagu, Peter the Great, Thomson, Sir William Temple, 
Charles XIL, Bishop Berkeley, Dryden, and Young. 

Addison might have read, as news of his day, of the passage of Habeas 
Corpus Act (1679), execution of Lord Stafford (1680), Revocation of the 
Edict of Nantes by Louis XIV. in 1685, Glencoe Massacre in 1691, defeat 
of Charles XIL at Pultowa in 1709, and of the death of Muiillo in 1685, 
Fontaine in 1695, '^'^^ Dryden in 1700. 



MISCELLANEOUS SUBJECTS. 



359 



Pope, 
1688-1744. 



LoDgfellow, 

1807-1882. 



Wordsworth, 
1770-1850. 



Cowper, 
1731-1800. 



Addison, 
1672-1719. 



Dryden, 
1631-1700. 



Milton, 
1608-1674. 



Shakspeare, 
1564-1616. 



Chaucer, 

1328-1400. 



Byron, 

1788-1824. 



Bacon, 
1561-1626. 



Spenser, 
1553-1599. 



EXGLISH LAXGrUAGE. 

Danish. Xorman-French. 

AXGLO-SAXOX. 

Celtic. 



MONUMENT OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



36o FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS, 



IV. -BOOKS USEFUL TO STUDENTS OF ENGLISH LITEEATURE. 

1. Abbott's Shaksperian Grammar. -$1.50. 

2. Adams's Dictionary of English Literature. $2.00. 

3. Allibone's Dictionary of Authors. $22.50. 

4. American Men of Letters Series. 10 vols, ready. $1.25. 

5. Arvine's Cyclopaedia of Literary Anecdotes. 

6. Bartlett's Familiar Quotations. $3.00. 

7. Bartlett's Shakspeare Phrase-Book. $3.00. 

8. Bascom's Philosophy of English Literature. $1.75. 

9. Botta's (Mrs.) Handbook of Universal Literature. $2.00. 

10. Brewer's Reader's Handbook. $3.50. 

11. Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable. ^2.50. 

12. Chaucer for Children. $1.00. 

13. Clarke's (Mrs.) Concordance to Shakspeare. $9.00. 

14. Cleveland's Concordance to Milton. $2.50. 

15. Duyckinck's Cyclopaedia of American Literature. $10.00. 

16. Dowden's Primer of Shakspeare. 50 cents. 

17. English Men of Letters Series. 40 or more vols., in paper. 15 to 25 

cents each. 

18. Fields's Yesterdays with Authors. $2.00. 

19. Furness's Concordance to Shakspeare's Poems. $4.00. 

20. Green's Short Historv of the English People. $1.75. 

21. Harris's (Miss) Pleasant Authors for Young People. $1.00. 

22. Higginson's Short Studies of American Authors. 50 cents. 

23. Hudson's English in Schools. 25 cents. 

24. Homes and Haunts of our Elder (American) Poets. $5.00. 

25. Maertz' Miscellaneous Questions in English Literature. With Key. 

$1.00 each. 

26. Lowell's My Study Windows. $2.00. 

27. Lowell's Among my Books. (2 series.) $2.00. 

28. Mitchell's (Ik Marvel) About Old Story-Tellers. $1.25. 

29. Morris's Half-Hours with Best American Authors. 4 vols. $6 Oa 

30. Morris's Half-Hours with American History. 2 vols. $3.00. 

31. Pierce's Dickens Dictionary. $2.00. 

32. Porter's Books and Reading. $2.00. 

33. Richardson's (Mrs.) Stories from Old English Poetry. $1.00. 

34. Rogers's (Miss) Waverley Dictionary. $1.50. 

35. Sanborn's (Miss) Home Pictures of the English Poets. $1.50. 

36. Scoones's Four Centuries of English Letters. $2.00. 

37. Stedman's Victorian Poets. $2.00. 






MISCELLANEOUS SUBJECTS. 361 

'fi. Underwood's Handbook of American Authors. $1.20. 

39. Underwood's Handbook of British Authors. $1.20. 

40. Wheeler's Dictionary of Noted Names of Fiction. $2.50. 

41. Wheeler's Familiar Allusions. $2.50. 

42. Wheeler's Who W^rote it? ^2.00. 



v. — INEXPENSIVE EDITIONS OF THE ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

Intended especially for School Purposes. 

1. Macmillan's Series of English Classics includes the well-known 

Globe Library, Spenser, Scott, etc., price $1.25 each; the best of Shak- 
speare's Plays, 35 to 50 cents each; and the various annotated texts of the 
great classics, as Spenser, Chaucer, etc. (Macmillan & Company.) 

2. Rolfe's English Classics. — This series includes Gray's Select Poems, 
Goldsmith's Select Poems, Milton's Minor Poems, and a school edition of 
Shakspeare's Plays in forty volumes. Price, 56 cents per volume; paper, 40 
cents per volume. (Harper & Brothers.) 

3. Rolfe's Students' Edition of Standard Poetry. Annotated edi- 
tions of four volumes of Tennyson's Poems; Scott's Lady of the Lake, Mar- 
mion. Lay of the Last Minstrel; Byron's Childe Harold; Robert Browning's 
Select Poems. Price, about 42 cents each. (Houghton, Mifflin & Co.) 

4. Hudson's English Authors. — These books include most of Shak- 
speare's Plays, bound in paper; paper editions of the Select Essays of 
Goldsmith, Addison, and Bacon; and Select Poems by Burns, Goldsmith, 
Coleridge, Wordsworth, etc. Price, from 15 to 30 cents each. (Ginn & 
Company. ) 

5. Sprague's Annotated English Classics include Six Selections from 
Irving's Sketch-Book; Milton's Lycidas; Books L and II. of Paradise Lost. 
Price, about 50 cents each. (Ginn & Company.) 

6. Harper's Half-Hour Series. — In this series are found the principal 
Essays of Macaulay; Lamb's Tales from Shakspeare, 2 vols.; Sir Roger de 
Coverley, with notes; Scott's best poems, printed separately; Goldsmith's 
Plays: Goldsmith's Poems; Goldsmith's Vicar of Wakefield; and many 
others. Price, 25 cents each. (Harper & Brothers.) 

7. English Classic Series. — Two hundred numbers have been pub- 
lished. The series includes both the works of the old English writers and 
those of modern classic authors. Price, from 12 to 20 cents each. (May- 
nard, Merrill & Company.) 

S. Ginn's Classics for Children. — Fifty numbers already issued, in- 
cluding editions of Robinson Crusoe, Scott's Ivanhoe, Talisman, Guy Man- 



362 FIRST STEPS IN ENGLISH CLASSICS 

nering, Quentin Durward, Lady of the Lake, Marmion, etc. Price, from 
25 to 60 cents each. (Ginn & Company.) 

g. Riverside Literature Series. — One hundred or more numbers pub- 
lished. Selections from standard American authors. Price, from 15 to 30 
cents each. (Houghton, Mifflin & Co.) 

10. Modern Classics. — School edition. Selections from the best Eng- 
lish and American authors. Thirty-three numbers published. Price, 40 
cents each. (Houghton, ^Nlifllin & Co.) 

11. Riverside School Library. — A series of Classics edited for school 
use. Price, 50 to 70 cents each. (Houghton, ISIifllin & Co.) 

12. Ginn's Standard English Classics. — A number of edited vol- 
umes of standard authors. Price, from 30 to 50 cents each. (Ginn & 
Company.) 

13. Standard Literature Series. — Consisting of thirty or more edited 
editions of standard works. Price, from 10 to 30 cents each. (University 
Publishing Company.) 

14. Longman's English Classics. — Twenty or more volumes of stand- 
ard productions, edited and annotated by well-known scholars. Price, from 
50 to 75 cents. 

15. Eclectic English Classics. — This series consists of some forty Eng- 
lish Classics. Price, from 20 to 60 cents each. (American Book Company.) 

16. Silver Series of English Classics. — Twenty or more edited edi- 
tions of the English Classics. Price, from 48 to 72 cents each. (Silver, 
Burdett & Company.) 

17. Students' Series of English Classics. — Thirty or more edited 
and annotated editions of standard authors. Price, from 25 to 50 cents each. 
(Leach, Shewell, & Company.) 

18. Academy Series of English Classics. — Twenty or more edited 
editions of standard authors. Price, from 25 to 50 cents each. (Allyn & 
Bacon.) 



NOTES. 



CHAPTER II. 

LONGFELLOW'S WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. Page 8. 

This fine ballad was written nearly fifty years ago. Longfellow in 
his private diary under date of Dec. 17, 1839, says, ^'News of horrible 
shipwrecks on the coast. Twenty bodies washed ashore near Glouces- 
ter, one lashed to a piece of wreck. There is a reef called Norman's 
Woe, where many of these took place, among others the schooner 
* Hesperus.' I must write a ballad upon this." Nearly two weeks 
afterwards, as the poet says, one night he sat till twelve o'clock by 
his fire, smoking, when suddenly it came into his mind to write the 
ballad, which he accordingly did. ^' The clock was striking three," 
says the diary, "when I finished the last stanza. I then went to bed, 
and fell asleep. I feel pleased with the ballad. It hardly cost me an 
effort. It did not come into my mind by lines, but by stanzas." 

SOUTHEY'S INCHCAPE ROCK. Page 16. 

The celebrated and dangerous sunken reef known as the Inch 
Cape, or Bell Rock, is in the German Ocean, on the northern side of 
the entrance of the Firth of Forth, and about twelve miles from land. 
According to an old tradition, an abbot of Aberbrothock placed a bell 
here, as a warning to sailors, which was cut loose by a Dutch rover, 
who, as a retribution for this mischievous act, was afterwards wrecked 
upon the same rock. This is the story which is told by Southey in 
his well-known ballad of " The Inchcape Rock." 

" In old times upon the saide rock there was a bell fixed upon a timber, which 
rang continually, being moved by the sea, giving notice to saylers of the danger. 
This bell was put there and maintained by the abbot of Aberbrothock ; but, being 
taken down by a sea-pirate, a yeare thereafter he perished upon the sam.e rocke, with 
ship and goodes, in the righteous judgement of God." — Stoddart's Remarks on 
Scotland, 



364 NOTES, 

Robert Southey, who wrote '^The Incbcape Rock," was born in 
England in 1774, was educated at Westminster School, and afterwards 
studied two years at Oxford. He married the sister of Coleridge, and 
lived in the Lake district, a companion and friend of Wordsworth the 
poet. Southey's entire life was devoted to literary pursuits. His 
industry, both as a student and writer, was unparalleled in our litera- 
ture. He wrote several long poems which are almost forgotten. His 
shorter poems are still popular. His most popular prose work, the 
Life of Lord Nelson, is universally accepted as an English classic, 
and is still read by young people. Southey was appointed poet- 
laureate in 1 81 3, and lived until 1843 to enjoy the honor. At last 
his overworked brain gave way, and he became an imbecile during 
the last three years of his life. As a man, Southey's life was without 
a stain. His cheerful disposition, scholarly habits, and a keen sense 
of honor, won for him universal respect and esteem. 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. Page 19. 

William Wordsworth, whom Lowell calls " the apostle of the im- 
agination," was born in England in 1770. He was sent to an English 
university. He neglected the regular studies, but devoted himself to the 
classics. In his youth he was a stanch repubhcan ; but in later years 
he became a pronounced conservative, opposing every just scheme 
of political reform in his own country. He determined to become a 
poet, and endured a life of self-denial to accomplish this end. Fortu- 
nately he inherited some property which enabled him to live comfort- 
ably. He settled at last in a place called Rydal Mount, with which 
his name will always be associated. He was happily married, and 
lived to be eighty years old, having passed a happy and honored old 
age. " I do not know," says Sir Walter Scott, " a man more to be 
venerated for uprightness of heart and loftiness of genius." 

Wordsworth was a voluminous writer of poetry. He is not a 
popular poet. His was the ge^^ius of a great philosopher. Many 
of his shorter poems are simple and easily understood. His longer 
poems are only mastered after patient study. His masterpiece is 
The Excursion, a philosophical poem. As Stopford A. Brooke says, 
^'Wordsworth was the greatest of the English poets of this century; 
greatest not only as a poet, but as a philosopher." 



NOTES, 365 

TENNYSON'S DORA. Page 24. 

This poem was first printed in 1842. Tennyson says it was partly 
suggested by one of Miss Mitford's charming stories, probably that 
of " Dora Cresswell'' in "Our Village." 



CHAPTER III. 

SCOTT'S ROSABELLE. Page 41. 

This charming ballad is taken from Sir Walter Scott's " Lay of the 
Last Minstrel " (Canto VL xxiii. 1. 352). " It is intended," says Jeffrey, 
" to represent that wild style of composition which prevailed among 
the bards of the Northern continent, somewhat softened and adorned 
by the minstrel's residence in the South.'' 

"The reader will probably be struck," says the same critic, "with 
the poetical effect of the dramatic form into which it is thrown, and 
of the indirect description by which every thing is most expressively 
told without one word of distinct narrative." 

4. Rosabelle, — " This was a family name in the house of St. Clair. 
Henry St. Clair, the second of the line, married Rosabelle, fourth 
daughter of the Earl of Stratherne." — Scott. 

7. Castle Ravensheuch. — A strong castle, now in ruins, situated 
on a steep crag washed by the Firth of Forth. It was long a resi- 
dence of the barons of Roslin. The word means a raven's crag or 
steep. 

10. Inch. — A Keltic word for "island." The word is attached to 
certain islands in the estuary of the Forth. 

11. Water-Sprite. — Often used in old poems, and in poems that 
imitate or refer to these. Also called the "water-wraith." Consult 
Wordsworth's " Yarrow Visited," and Campbell's " Lord Ullin's 
Daughter " (p. 44, 1. 26). 

21. The Ring they Ride. — A ring was suspended, not tightly 
fastened, but so that it could easily be detached, from a horizontal 
beam resting on two upright posts. The players rode at full speed 
through the archway thus made, and, as they went under, passed their 
lance-points, or aimed at passing them, through the ring, and so bore 
it off. 

26. A Wondj'ous Blaze, — See Chambers's " Book of Days," a 



366 NOTES, 

most valuable repertory of antiquarian and other information, vol. i. 
623-625 : "■ An old 'guide ' at Roslin used to tell how when any evil or 
death was about to befall one of them [St. Clairs], 'The chaipel aye 
appeared on fire the nicht afore.' " 

32. Hawthor7iden. — Near Roslin, standing on a cliff rising from 
the River Esk. The chff abounded in caverns. 

50. With cafidle^ with book, and with knell. — With proper reli- 
gious rites duly performed. Compare " The Tempest : " — 

'• Sea-nymphs hourh* ring his knell: 
Hark ! now I hear them, — Ding, dong, bell ! " 

THOMAS CAMPBELL. Page 43. 

Thomas Campbell, author of '• Lord UUin's Daughter," was born 
in Scotland, in 1777, and was educated at the university in Glasgow, 
his native placCc He pubhshed his celebrated poem, " The Pleasures 
of Hope," in his twenty-first year. This established his reputation 
as a poet. His poems are not numerous, and it is probable that he 
composed very slowly. His well-known poems called '•' Hohenlinden " 
and " Lochiel's Warning" were both revised by his friend Sir Walter 
Scott. Some of his longer poems are quite inferior. His shorter 
pieces, like "The Battle of the Baltic,'' '• Hohenhnden," ''Soldier's 
Dream," and a few others, are well remembered. His poems, as a 
whole, are marked by graceful imager}', purity of thought, and ele- 
gance of language. He died in France in 1844, and was buried in 
Westminster Abbey. 

SOUTHEY'S BATTLE OF BLENHEIM. Page 45- 

This famous battle was fought Aug. 13, 1704. The Duke of 
Marlborough gained one of his great victories over the French and 
Bavarians, near the little town of Blenheim, in Bavaria. For a full 
account of the battle, see chap. ix. of Green's '• Short History of the 
English People." 

TENNYSON'S LADY CLARE. Page 49. 

This poem was first published in 1842. In a note to this edition, 
the poet tells us it w^as suggested by i\Iiss Ferrier's novel called 



NOTES, 167 

^' The Inheritance." Some ten years after the poem was published, the 
two opening stanzas in our text were substituted for the following: — 

" Lord Ronald courted Lady Clare, 
I trow they did not j^art in scorn ; 
Lord Ronald, her cousin, courted her, 
And they will wed the morrow morn." 

The sixteenth stanza, beginning 

'• The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brought," etc. 

was added at the same time. 

TENNYSON'S IN THE CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL. Page 67. 

This poem was published in 1880. "The poem has been criticised 
as ' marred a little by the needlessly harsh attack on the practice of 
modern surgery, as exhibited by one of the hospital staff ; ' but Mr. 
Palgrave says, ' It should be remembered that this is a little drama, in 
which the hospital nurse, not the poet, is supposed to be speaking 
throughout. The two children, whose story w^as published in a parish 
magazine, are the only characters here described from actual life.' He 
adds that Uhis is the most absolutely pathetic poem ' known to him. 

" 10. Oorali. — A drug, also known as woorali and airari^ or ctiraj^a. 
* It acts by paralyzing the nerves of motion, whilst the sensitiveness is 
left unimpaired '(Palgrave). It is used by the South- American Indians 
for poisoning their arrows. The reference here is to the practice of 
vivisection for purposes of physiological investigation." — Rolfe's 
Yoimg People^ s Te7t7iyson. 

SCOTT'S LOCHINVAR. Page 71. 

The ballad of " Lochinvar " is sung by Lady Heron in " Marmion." 
It is found in Canto V., stanza xii. The hero is a youth who runs off 
with his lady-love under the very eyes of her expectant bridegroom 
and relatives. Scott says that this ballad is to some extent founded 
on one which may be found in the Border Minstrelsy. 

TENNYSON'S DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW. Page 72. 

Tennyson contributed this poem in 1879 to a leading English peri- 
odical called "The Nineteenth Century." The poem celebrates the 



368 NOTES. 

heroic deeds performed during the Sepoy rebelhon in British India 
in 1857. The British garrison was shut up in Lucknow in June, 1857, 
by the insurgents. The city was heroically defended by the garrison 
for twelve long weeks, until it was relieved on Sept. 25 by Gen. Have- 
lock. The defence was one of the most heroic exploits of recent 
times. The scenes of horror and suffering are most vividly portrayed 
by the poet. 

MACAULAY'S BATTLE OF IVRY. Page 77. 

Henry the Fourth, on his accession to the French crown, was 
opposed by a large part of his subjects under the Duke of Mayence, 
with the assistance of Spain and Savoy. In ]\Iarch, 1590, he gained 
a decisive victory over that party at Ivry. Before the battle he ad- 
dressed his troops : " My children, if you lose sight of your colors, 
rally to my white plume ; you will always find it in the path to honor 
and glory." Nothing could resist his impetuous valor, and the 
leaguers underwent a total and bloody defeat. In the midst of the 
rout King Henry followed, crying, " Save the French ! " and his clem- 
ency added a number of the enemies to his own arm}^ 

Thomas Babington Macaulay, or Lord Macaulay as he is gener- 
ally known, was born near Leicester, Eng., in 1800. He was educated 
at Cambridge, where he won great distinction. While a young man 
he made some notable contributions to leading periodicals, such as 
the ballads of ''The Spanish Armada" and '-The Battle of Ivry." In 
1825 he wrote his celebrated essay on Milton for '' The Edinburgh Re- 
view," which was followed by numerous other contributions on various 
subjects, historical, political, and literar3\ At an early age, Macaulay 
became a member of Parliament, and took a leading part in the great 
discussions of that time. He was sent to India in 1834 as a member 
of the Council, and while there wrote his famous essays on Lord Chve 
and Warren Hastings. The first two volumes of his History of 
England were published in 1842, two others appearing in 1855. 
Macaulay retired from political life in 1856, owing to faihng health, 
and in the next year was created a baron in consideration of his great 
literary merit. He died suddenly in 1859 ^^ heart-disease, and was 
buried in Westminster Abbey. 

Macaulay excelled as a poet, was brilhant as an essayist, but is 
chiefly illustrious as a historian. His style is marked by great origi- 



NOTES. 369 

nality; it is clear, incisive, and brilliant. His language is simple, 
pithy, and idiomatic. His sentences are short, pointed, and antitheti- 
cal. No one has to read his sentences twice over to find out their 
meaning. 

CHAPTER V. 

IRVING'S VOYAGE. Page 85. 

This charming piece is the first sketch in Washington Irving's 
*^ Sketch-Book." The first number of this famous work was published 
in this country in 181 9. Irving was then thirty-six years old. Sir 
Walter Scott had enjoyed reading Irving's " Knickerbocker," and 
therefore urged Murray, the famous bookseller, to publish the volume 
of sketches known as " The Sketch-Book." The book was cordially 
received, and the author's reputation was permanently established. 
After seventy years, this great classic retains its popularity, and is 
read and re-read in all parts of the civiHzed world. 

MOTLEY'S WILLIAM THE SILENT. Page 94. 

During the same year (1814) that Scott published his first Wave rley 
novel, John Lothrop Motley, the brilliant historian of the Netherlands, 
was born near Boston. He graduated at Harvard College, and after- 
wards studied several years in Germ.any. Having written several 
novels which were not well received, he determined to devote himself 
to writing history. His first work, "The Rise of the Dutch Republic," 
was published in 1856, after the labor of ten years. This brilliant 
work raised its aathor, by common consent, to the front rank of illus- 
trious historians. Of his second work, " The History of the United 
Netherlands," two volumes were published in 1861, and the remaining 
two in 1868. His third and last work, "The Life of John Barneveld," 
was published in 1874. 

Mr. Motley died suddenly in England in 1877. He was buried near 
London. He was appointed minister to Austria in 1866, and to a 
similar position at the Court of St. James's in 1869. 

As an historian, Motley combined two quahties rarely united, — a 
capacity for historical research, and the power of pictorial represen- 
tation. He delighted to describe scenes of magnificence, and portrays 
with dramatic skill and power the mighty events of the long and 



j/ 



O NOTES. 



desperate struggle between Spain and the Netherlands. His style is 
wonderfully picturesque, vigorous, full of animation, and glows with 

the enthusiasm of the author. 



DICKENS'S BOB CRATCHIT'S CHRISTMAS DINNER. Page 104. 

Bob Cratchit and family are favorites with all who love Dickens's 
" Christmas Carol." This work, the first of a long series of Christmas 
stories, was published in December, 1843. It was most cordially 
received by the pubhc, and for nearly half a century has kept its 
popularity. No sweetier, healthier, or more cheerful work of nction 
has ever been written for young people, — or old ones too, for that 
matter. '-'It seems to me,*' says Thackeray, "a national benefit, and 
to every man or woman who reads it a personal kindness.*' This 
brief selection, of course, can give the reader no proper idea of the 
beauty, tenderness, and pathos of this wonderful production of the 
great novelist. The student should read the full text at his earliest 
convenience. 

Charles Dickens, a great master of fiction, was born in England in 
1812. His early life was one of hardship and self-denial. He was 
placed by his father in a London attorney's office, but disliking the 
work he became a newspaper reporter. In this occupation he became 
shrewd and skilful. Under the name '^ Boz " he contributed several 
sketches to a London magazine. Shortly afterwards he published the 
first part of the "Pickwick Papers." It proved to be a remarkable 
success, and estabhshed the author's success on a solid foundation. 
Novel after novel now proceeded from his ready pen, every thing 
that he wrote being eagerly welcomed by an enthusiastic public. In 
later years Dickens gave readings from his own works. They proved 
very successful, both in this country and in England. 

Dickens died suddenly in 1S70. His untimely death was lamented 
over the whole civilized w^orld. His novels deal with life as exhibited 
among the middle and lower classes of societ}'. They are character- 
ized by a constant fiow of spirits and drollery, grotesqueness and 
pathos. His characters are so exquisitely described, that their names 
and pet phrases have become woven into the common speech of 
people. 

Dickens was a short, thick-set man of sturdv o^rowth. He dehghted 



NOTES. 



371 



in out-door sports, and for years was given to taking long walks daily 
in all kinds of weather. He was passionately fond of children, quaint 
odd characters, and took unceasing delight in all kinds of pets, espe- 
cially birds and dogs. Of a nature kind, unselfish, sympathetic, and 
generous, he was universally beloved by people of every station of 
life. 

PRESCOTT'S ABDICATION OF CHARLES THE FIFTH. Page no. 

William Hickling Prescott, the distinguished historian, was born 
in Salem, Mass., in 1796. He entered Harvard College at an early 
age, but an accidental injury to one of his eyes caused him to change 
his plans in life. He determined upon a life devoted to literature. He 
entered upon a most rigid and thorough preparation. His first work, 
published in 1837, the " History of Ferdinand and Isabella," cost him 
ten of the best years of his life. The " Conquest of Mexico " was 
published in 1843, ^^^ the "Conquest of Peru" in 1847. He next 
undertook the " History of Philip II.*' Three volumes were issued 
when Prescott died suddenly in 1859. 

Prescott holds a high rank as an historian. His works are filled 
with brilliant scenes and episodes. He was most thorough and pains- 
taking in all that he undertook. His style is remarkable for its clear- 
ness and vivid descriptions. He possessed to an eminent degree love 
of truth, impartiality, and discriminating judgment. 

Mr. Prescott was a tall and handsome man, universally beloved for 
his pleasing manners and kindly disposition. With an ample fortune, 
and with all his worldly honors, he always kept that simphcity of 
character and kindness of heart that made his name reverenced ahke 
by the rich and poor. 

MACAULAY'S TRIAL OF WARREN HASTINGS. Page 119. 

Lord Macaulay's splendid essays on Lord Clive and Warren Hast- 
ings are the finest productions of the kind in our literature. This 
selection is taken from the essay on Hastings. At the best it is only 
a specimen, and hence the young student from its study can get only a 
faint idea of the scope of this masterly essay. Warren Hastings, 
one of the ablest of all the able men sent to India as its governor- 
general, was impeached by and brought to trial before the House of 



J/- 



A'OTES. 



Lords in 17S8 for crue!: a ! various misdemeanors. "I hardl5 

know of a s:ory so :::: : cs: :_. sis Macaulay, "and of such various 
interests. The ce::: :1 f_ ure is in the highest degree striking and 
interesting. I th:::k Vv a: en Hast!nz^s. thoi?2:h far from faultless, one 
of the greatest men that Eng ana e ri : jduced." This essay on 
Hastings v as : a; "she a :n the E niar^h Re ietv" for October, 
1841. It has :ren universahv adntircd : :r its st ae. It is written 
with the greatest force and picturcsqaenc-s. laii of aiiasion, illustra- 
tion, grace, clearness, and poia t, 

The Pla?ifagenefs,^\io%^ name vas Ccrivec from :^:t planta genista^ 
the Saanish :m- iant. a so rig of v hich was commonly worn hy 
G^offc . tim :a ae 0: Henry IE. reigned over England for more than 

]V::::-r E;, -;■.;, — Wiiiiam IE ic^:-ii::'. surnamed Riifin. :: 
the .^:-.:\ ::-m-a tim cEor of his "mir. cre:t~a WEstminster Haii. -.-hticn 



The ceic'iratea L:>-.: Ea//a -.vas imacahtea ::: taiaa^ Enhes and 
other corraat practices, itie v.-as Sc:n:eiicea to pay a hac oi forty 
t saaa ands, to be imprisoned in the Tower, and to be forever 
a:a a ie : office, place, or employment. In consideration of 

nis great merit, tne King soon released him from the Tower, and 
remitted his fine and other parts of his sentence. 

Lard Somers^ lord chancellor in the reign of William TIE. was 
impeached for alleged illegal practices, but was acquitted. 

The E^ : Strafford Vi2is impeached and tried on a charge of 

treasn in cs minster iHalh Ele gained many friends by the elo- 
carn:e f ni- dmEnac. S aEmi was afterward tried by a ''bill of 
a 1 1 a i a. a - r . condemned t : a -ait. r e i: eaded in 1 641 . 

E ?' V / was impeached as a rant, traitor, muiderer. and a 
pa i in placable enemy to the h : n wealth," and brought to 

triai m re ti e Ehigh Court ofjistie ss a im in Westminster Hall 
in I'i-j. \V:ta^ great temper and ai^nit nr Ozelined to submit him- 
self to the jurisdiction of the court, on the ground that he was their 
her Etary king. 

GhrE- tar endured a nemoraEc sic^e of more than three years at 
this time. It was bravely defended by Gen. EUiot, with a garrison of 
five thousand men. Gen E!!tot. on h s re ram to England in 1787, 
was raised to the ocera^e as Lord Eletti hcid of Gibraltar. 



NOTES. Z7^ 

Prince of Wales. — Afterwards George IV. At this time the 
prince was twenty-six years of age, of dissolute habits, and a spend- 
thrift. 

The Queen. — The wife of George III., and Queen of England. 
The House of Brunswick, or Hanover, includes the rulers of England 
from George I. to Victoria. 

Sarah Siddons (i 755-1 831). — The famous tragic actress. She was 
at this time thirty-three years old, and was at the height of her fame. 

Historian of the Ro7nan E7npire. — Edward Gibbon (i 737-1 794X 
the great historian of " The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire," 
finished his masterly work only the year before, in 1787. 

Cicero (106 B.C.-43 B.C.). — The illustrious Roman orator. The 
infamous Verres, praetor of Sicily, was impeached for atrocious acts 
of cruelty and rapine. Cicero conducted the prosecution of Verres, 
who employed Hortensius to defend him. 

Tacitus. — A celebrated Roman historian who flourished in the 
first century. 

The Greatest Painter. — Sir Joshua Reynolds (i 723-1 792), the cele- 
brated painter, the friend of Dr. Johnson, Burke, Goldsmith, and other 
great men of his time. 

The Greatest Scholar. — Samuel Parr (1747-1825) enjoyed in his 
time an extraordinary reputation for scholarship. 

Elizabeth Montague (i 720-1 800). — A celebrated English lady who 
numbered among her friends the most eminent people of the day, — 
Burke, Goldsmith, Dr. Johnson, Reynolds, and Hannah More. 

Charles James /^^;r( 1749- 1806). — The great statesman and orator. 
Burke called him -'the greatest debater the world ever saw." 

Georgiana^ Duchess of Devo7ishire (i 757-1806). — An English lady 
famed for her beauty and accomplishments. She w^as a personal friend 
of Fox, for whom, it is said, she bought votes by granting electors the 
privilege of kissing her. 

Willia7n Pitt (i 759-1 806). — Son of the great Earl of Chatham^ 
His genius and ambition displayed themselves with almost unexampled 
precocity. At the age of twenty-five, Pitt ruled absolutely over the 
English Cabinet, and was the m.ost powerful subject that England had 
seen for many generations. For seventeen eventful years he held his 
great position without a break. Cf. Macaulay's biography of William 
Pitt. 



374 NOTES, 

Lord North. — The prime minister of England during the Ameri 
can Revolution. " A more amiable man never lived," says Earl 
Russell ; " a worse minister never since the Revolution governed this 
country." Lord North was fifty-six years old at this time. 

Richard Briiisley Sheridan (1751-1816). — The brilliant orator, and 
author of the popular plays, " The Rivals " and " School for Scandal." 
His great speech urging the impeachment of Hastings is still tradi- 
tionally remembered as, perhaps, the very grandest triumph of oratory 
in a time prolific of such triumphs. 

Hyperides. — A famous Athenian orator, put to death in 322 B.C. 
Cicero ranks him next to Demosthenes. His orations have all been 
lost. 

William Windham (i 750-1810). — Secretary of war under Mn 
Pitt, an excellent speaker, and a most effective debater. Fox, Pitt, 
Canning, Dr. Johnson, and other great men of that time, gave Wind- 
ham the highest praise. In his lifetime he gained the nickname of 
" the weathercock." 

The Youngest Manager. — Charles, Earl Grey (i 764-1845). Head 
of the government which carried the Reform Bill in 1832, and a dis- 
tino^uished EnHish statesman. It was said that a more honorable 
man never lived. 

Cowper., the Clerk of the Cotirt. — This gentleman gave William 
Cowper, the poet, the lucrative office of clerk of the journals of the 
House of Lords, which was accepted ; but being obliged to appear 
personally at the bar of the House for examination, the sensitive poet 
was seized with nervousness, and dared not appear. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

IRVING'S CHRISTMAS EVE, Page 152. 

The House. — The author is invited by his friend, Frank Brace- 
bridge, to pass the holidays at the family mansion of the Bracebridges, 
^' where," said his host, ''I can assure you of a hearty welcome in 
something of the old-fashioned style." Consult Irving's separate 
work called " Bracebridge Hall." 

The Old Gafnes. — Many of the old Christmas games resembled 
those now played by young people. " Hoodman blind " is the same 



NOTES, 375 

as blindman's-buff. In *^hot cockles," one is blindfolded, and seeks 
to guess who strikes at him. In "■ snap-dragon," the sport is to see 
the player snatch dainties from a bowl of blazing brandy. 

Mistletoe. — A common plant, growing on hardy trees, like the oak. 
It was reverently regarded by the Druids, and used in their religious 
worship. The mistletoe is still hung up in farmhouses and kitchens 
at Christmas ; and the young men have the privilege of kissing the 
girls under it, plucking, each time, a berry from the bush. When 
the berries are all plucked, the privilege ceases. 

The Yule Clog is a great log of wood, sometimes the root of a 
tree, brought into the house with great ceremony on Christmas Eve, 
laid in the fireplace, and lighted with the brand of last year's clog. 
While it lasted, there was great drinking, singing, and telling of tales. 
Sometimes it was accompanied by Christmas candles ; but in the 
cottages the only light was from the ruddy blaze of the great wood 
fire. The Yule clog was to burn all night ; if it went out, it was con- 
sidered a sign of ill-luck. Herrick mentions it in one of his songs : — 

" Come, bring with a noise, 

My merrie, merrie boyes, 
The Christmas log to the firing; 

While my good dame, she 

Bids ye all be free, 
And drink to your hearts' desiring.'' 

The Yule clog is still burnt in many farmhouses and kitchens in 
England, particularly in the North, and there are several superstitions 
connected with it among the peasantry. If a squinting person come 
to the house while it is burning, or a person barefooted, it is con- 
sidered an ill omen. The brand remaining from the Yule clog is 
carefully put away to light the next year's Christmas fire. 

Cf. article on Christmas and its sports in Chambers's ^' Book of 
Days." 

Holly. — A shrub well known by its glistening green leaves and 
scarlet berries. It is intimately associated with all that pertains to 
the celebration of Christmas. The holly plays an important part in 
Christmas literature, especially in Dickens's ^' Christmas Stories." 

Buffet. — A kind of sideboard on which the household china, glass- 
ware, etc., were placed. 



Zy6 NOTES. 

F7'uinenty (Latin, frii7neiit7i7n, wheat). — A kind of wheat gruel, 
sweetened and made palatable with rich spices. 

^^ A'^o spirit dares stir abroad!' — Quotation from *• Hamlet." Act 
I., Scene i. 

Tester (Old French, teste^ the head). — Top covering or canopy 
of a bed, supported by the bedstead. 

Waits (German, wacht^ or wachej English, watch). — Musicians 
w^ho perform at night, or in the early morning. In this connection, 
waits are musicians who play during the night, or early in the morn- 
ing, for two or three weeks before Christmas. See Chambers's '*' Book 
of Days," vol. ii. 

IRVING'S RETURN OF RIP VAN WINKLE. Page 156. 

Red Night-Cap. — During the French Revolution the red cap was 
regarded as the symbol of liberty. Irving represents the villagers as 
having erected a libert3'-pole with a red cap on its top, and flung the 
American flag to the breezes, thereby celebrating the recently acquired 
independence of the country. 

King Geo7ge. — George III., King of England, began to reign 
1760, died 1820. 

Federal or Deniocrat. — At the time of the formation and adoption 
of the Constitution of the United States, one political party favored 
it, and were called Federalists : the other opposed it, and were called 
Democrats. These two parties also had opposite views concerning 
the foreign and domestic policy of the new nation. 

Aki?7ibo. — Derivation is obscure, probably relating to the Keltic 
ka7n, or ca77i. crooked. Dryden has, '• The kimbo handles seem with 
bear's foot carved." Halliwell has, " Arms on kemboll ; " i.e., akimbo. 
To rest the hand on the hip, wnth the elbow thrown forward and out. 

Tory. — During the Revolution, one who opposed the war and 
favored the claims of Great Britain was called a Tory. 

Stony Point. — A rocky promontory on the Hudson River. A fort 
on its top was captured from the British by Gen. Anthony Wayne, in 
1779, by a brilliant assault. 

Anto7iys Nose. — Fanciful name of another rocky promontory on 
the Hudson. Why it came to have this name, see Irving's "History 
of New York," Book VI., chap. iv. 



NOTES, 377 

Hendrick Hudson. — During his second voyage in search of a 
north-west passage to India, this celebrated navigator discovered the 
Hudson River, in 1609. The "Half-moon" was the name of his 
vessel. 

CHAPTER X. 

GOLDSMITH'S DESERTED VILLAGE. Page 171. 

Six years after Goldsmith established his poetical reputation by 
publishing " The Traveller," and four after the publication of " The 
Vicar of Wakefield," the genial Irish author pubhshed his " Deserted 
Village," in 1770. The poem was at once successful, and ran through 
six editions in a few months. Goldsmith dedicated his poem to his 
friend Sir Joshua Reynolds, the great painter, who soon after painted 
a picture on which was inscribed, *' This attempt to express a charac- 
ter in ' The Deserted Village ' is dedicated to Dr. Goldsmith by his 
sincere friend and adm.irer. Sir Joshua Reynolds." 

The intention of the poet in this poem was to depict the melan- 
choly change caused by emigration on a country village, and to 
denounce the state of society which rendered such emigrations possi- 
ble. ]Many of the features in the description of the village in its 
prosperity are, doubtless, borrowed from his native Pallas, — such as 
that of the village school. " No poetical piece of equal length," says 
Washington Irving, " has been more universally read by all classes, 
or has more frequently supplied extracts for apt quotation. It 
abounds with couplets and single lines, so simply beautiful in senti- 
ment, so musical in cadence, and so perfect in expression, that the 
ear is delighted to retain them for their melody, the mind treasures 
them for their truth, wdiile their tone of tender melancholy indelibly 
engraves them on the heart." 

I. Auburn. — This name was suggested to Goldsmith by a friend. 
It has been quite fancifully identified with Lissoy, a little village in 
Ireland. 

17. Train. — This word is often used by Goldsmith. 

40. Stmts thy smiling plai7i. — '* Deprives thy plain of the beauty 
and luxuriance that once characterized it." — Hales. 

44. Bittern. — Remarkable for its booming cry, usually inhabits 
marshes. (See Isa. xiv. 23, xxxiv. 11.) 



378 .VOTES. 

53. See •■• Corter's Saturday Night,'' 1. 165. 

" Princes and lords are but the breath of kings." 

54. This line is im: rated from one in Pope, " Imitations of Horace,^ 
Book I. chap. i. line 29>. 

Who pants for glory finds bot short repose; 
A breath revives him, or a breath o'erthrows." 

5" T/ 3 asse :: ?n as to the former state of England can scarcely 

be l:orne ou: by ::ie facts Macaulay (chap. iii. vol. i. of " History of 
England") says, **It see :s / ^ -y probable that a fourth part of Eng- 
land has been, in : ^ : ^^r :: ::de more than a century [from 
George II.l turned :: :: a v: :: :: :: garden." 

6^. Per::a;:s Gc-;:s::.iih was thinking of Horace (*' Odes." Book II. 
15 . b: says. S ::: :bese princely piles will leave few acres ::r : r 
:: - ; .: ^ v s : e a k :: ^ : : : . e a s sion for building which pre\^il c a : :: I : a ' 
in bis :[:\\z. 

05. Every evil iba: a focbsli indiiigence in unnecessary expenditure 
brings with it. 

83-96. " How touchingly expressive are the succeeding lines ! 
wrung from a heart which all the trials and temptations and buffet- 
ings of the world could no: rea tl arldly; which in spite of a 
thousand follies and errors ;: a r . ra :k sb I retained its childlike 
innocence." — Irvimg. 

IC-. Litter end. — The phrase is common in the Bizle. See, for 
exara br Pr: xbx a:, Job viii. 7, Xum. xxiv. 20. 

i_: T - a^-a: : in of the ^^Jla^re preacher is taken from the 
aab : b rother, the Rev. Ha b b s aiith, to whom he dedicated 
• b T baveller." Fr a: :aa: - :aa a -r-e learn that line 142 is 
b:c ab : r Bu: a : a:: a:^a :: :br ::ai:sinthe character were 
cca:a::a :: Gbasababs irib^rr aaa ;: rother. 

i_: - :: / 3, — bsra 111 :a.c sense of "exceedingly."' 

155. r : v : : ':::er. — Campbell's " Soldier's Dream : " — 

" And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay." 

Cf \':r^rs iEneid, iL 13 : '' fracti belloP 

lb Ta.e original of the village schoolmaster is supposed to have 
been Ti:o nas Byrne, the schoolmaster at Lissoy, who was Goldsmith's 



NOTES. 379 

first teacher. Irving gives a charming sketch of this quaint teacher 
in his Life of Goldsmith. 

209. Tides. — Times, seasons. Cf. " King John," III. i. ^$. 

" Among the high fides in the calendar." 

221. N7it-brow7i ; i.e., draughts of nut-brown ale. 

Cf. Milton's " L' Allegro," 100 : " spicy nut-brown ale." There is a 
famous old ballad of " The Nut-brown ^laid." What is the meaning 
of the expression here .^ 

232. Twelve good rides, — Goldsmith's " Citizen of the World," 
letter 30: '' And the twelve rules the Royal Martyr [Charles I.] drew." 
See Crabbe's ''Parish Register," Part I., of the pictures possessed by 
" the industrious swain : " — 

" There is King Charles and all his golden rules, 
Who proved misfortune's was the best of schools." 

These rules were: i. Urge no healths. 2. Profane no divine ordi- 
nances. 3. Touch no State matters. 4. Reveal no secrets. 5. Pick 
no quarrels. 6. Make no companions. 7. Maintain no ill opinions. 
8. Keep no bad company. 9. Encourage no vice. 10. IMake no long 
meals. 11. Repeat no grievances. 12. Lay no wagers. 

Royal game of goose, — An obsolete game described in Strutt's 
*' Sports and Pastimes " (Book IV. chap. ii.). 

243. Barber s tale. — The garrulity of barbers in Goldsmith's day, 
as in our own, afforded a favorite theme for jest. 

244. Woodman. — Once, one who was a hunter ; now, a wood- 
chopper. 

248. Mantlmg bliss. — The intoxicating cup. Cf. Pope, — 

" The brain dances to the mantling bowl." 
Tennyson's " In Memoriam," civ. : 

" Bowl of wassail, mantle warm." 

283. "He seems to mean that the country exports more than its 
surplus productions, bartering for foreign luxuries what it really needs 
for home consumption." — Rolfe. 

304. To scape. — This word is found in both prose and poetry. 
Bacon and Shakspeare both use it instead of escape. 



38o NOTES. 

322. Torches glare. — In olden times, before street-lights came 

into use, rich people had a sen^nt precede them with torches as they 
went abroad at night. 

332. This passage is very I'ke c:.e ::: Goldsmith's "Citizen of the 
World," letter cxvii. 

344. Altama. — The Altamaha R ^r: is in Georgia. 

349. Birds forget to sing. — Alluaing to the well-known fact, that 
tropical birds, with all their brilliant plumage, are not generally singers. 

418. Tor no's cliffs. — There is a Lake Tomea in the extreme north 
of Sweden. The poet Campbell says. " Cold as the rocks on Tomeo's 
hoary brow." A river called Tornea or Tameo forms a boundarj^ 
between Sweden and Russia. Panibaniarca^ a mountain in South 
America, near Quito. 

427. Boswell tells us that the last four Jines of this poem were 
written by Dr. Johnson. 

428. Mole. — A breakwater at the entrance of a harbor. 

GOLDSMITH'S TRAVELLER. Paee 184, 

*' The Traveller" was original -y ; .':.:^'::ed in quarto, and made its 
appearance on Dec. 19, 1764; the : bears is 1765. Goldsmith 

had been engaged upon the poem toi- a long time. It is certain that a 
rough sketch of part of it had been previously sent by the poet to his 
brother Henry, probably during his travels in Switzerland ; and it is 
not unlikely that other parts were designed, if not actually written, 
during his travels. At last the poem was completed b\" the advice of 
Dr. Johnson, who himself added some of the closing lines The *: : e: 
received twenty guineas for it from the publisher, Newbery. Its suc- 
cess at its first appearance was not instantaneously striking; but in 
eight months it ran through four editions. Johnson declared that it 
was the greatest poem which had appeared since the days of Pope : 
and it is said that he had been seen to weep over the lines which 
describe the English character. In a short time the feme of Gold- 
smith was established : and it was felt that a new poet had arisen 
among the literary men of the capital. 

I. Shnu. — '' Mr. Goldsmith,"" asked Chamier, at the next meeting 
of the club, 'what do you mean by the last word in the first line 
of your ' Traveller'? 

* Remote, unfriended, melancholy j slow.' 



NOTES. 381 

Do you mean tardiness of locomotion ? '"' Johnson, who was near 
them, took part in what followed, and has related it. "Goldsmith, 
who would say something without consideration, answered 'Yes.' I 
was sitting by, and said, ' No, sir, you did not mean tardiness of 
locomotion ; you mean that sluggishness of mind which comes upon 
a man in solitude.' 'Ah!' exclaimed Goldsmith, ' tJiat was what I 
meant.' " — Forster. 

2. Scheld. — The Scheld, or Scheldt, is the ancient Scaldis, called 
lazy on account of its slow current. This river travels through a por- 
tion of France, Belgium, and the Netherlands. 

3. CarintJiian. — Carinthia is a duchy of Austria, near Italy. 

5. Ca7iipania. — The Campagna, a notoriously unhealthy and mala- 
rious plain in the neighborhood of Rome, is apparently meant. There 
appears to be no authority for spelling the word as in the text, for 
Campania is the name of a totally separate province in southern Italy. 

10. Washington Irving in " The Sketch Book," article The Voyage^ 
expands this idea, " We drag, it is true, ' a lengthening chain ' at each 
remove of our pilgrimage : but the chain is unbroken ; we can trace it 
back link by link, and we feel that the last still grapples us to home." 
Goldsmith, in the " Citizen of the World," letter iii., has the same 
words, " By every remove I only drag a greater length of chain." 

32. Cf. Tennyson's " Lotus-Eaters : " — 

" They sat them down upon the yellow sand." 
** Paradise Lost," IX. 1 121 : — 

'■'■ They sat them down to weep." 

41. School-taught. — Taught in the schools of philosophy. All 
mediaeval philosophers were roughly classed as "schoolmen," and 
their philosophy was termed "scholastic." Pope says: — 

" Unlearned, he knew no schoolman's subtle art." 

45. Crozviied. — This repetition of one word (as in lines 11, 17) is 
characteristic of Goldsmith. Cf. "realms" in lines 7, 29, 34, and 
"stranger" in lines 16, 21. 

50. Creation'' s heir. — Cf. Cowper's " Task," Winter Morning, line 
738. 



3 82 iXOTES. 

73. The patriot's boast. — Cf. Cowper, '• Task," Book II. 

" England, with all thy faults I love thee still, 
31 y country ! and, while yet a nook is left 
Where English minds and manners may be found, 
Shall be constrained to love thee. Though thy clime 
Be fickle, and thy year most part deform'd 
With dripping rains, or wither'd by a frost, 
I would not yet exchange thy sullen skies, 
And fields without a flower for warmer France 
With all her vines ; nor for Ausonia's groves 
Of golden fruitage and her myrtle bowers.'' 

84. Idra. — Or Idria, a town in the duchy of Carniola, in Austria. 
A? no, a river which rises in the Apennines, and empties into the 
Tuscan Sea. 

108. Gay theatric pride. — Cf. '' Paradise Lost." IV. 137, and Virgil's 
"^neid," i. 164. 

III. The praises of Italy have often been sung by great men. See 
Virgil's " Georgic," ii. 136-176; ''Addison's ''Letters from Italy:" 
Rogers's " Italy ; " and especially B}Ton's " Childe Harold,'' canto iv. 

134. Venice, Florence, Genoa, and Pisa were the chief seats of 
Italian commerce during the fifteenth century. They were wealthy 
and refined cities. The discovery of America and of the passage to 
India by the Cape of Good Hope turned commerce into new channels, 
and greatly injured the commercial cities of Italy. 

150. Pasteboard triumph. — Probably an allusion to the drolleries 
of the Carnival. Cavalcade. — Reference may be made to the races 
of the riderless horses in the Corso at the time of the Carnival. 

153. A pretty story is told in Prior's *' Life of Goldsmith,"' in re- 
gard to this couplet. "One day Sir Joshua Reynolds, calling at 
Goldsmith's lodgings, opened the door without ceremony, and discov- 
ered him in the boyish office of teaching a favorite dog to sit upright 
upon its haunches, or, as is commonly said, to beg. Occasionally he 
glanced his eyes over his desk, and occasionally shook his finger at the 
unwilling pupil in order to make him retain his position : while on the 
page before him was written that coirplet, with the ink of the second 
line still wet, from the description of Italy : — 

' By sports like these are all their cares beguiled, 
The sports of children satisfy the child.' 



NOTES 3^3 

The sentiment seemed so appropriate to the employment, that the 
visitor could not refrain from giving vent to his surprise in a strain of 
banter, which was received with characteristic good humor, and the 
admission at once made that the amusement in which he had been 
engaged had given birth to the idea." 

243. This and the lines which follow are autobiographical. Cf. 
George Primrose's story in '• The Vicar of Wakefield.'' 

253. Gestic lo7'e. — Scott uses the expression in " The Abbot,*' 
where Catherine Seyton is said to be skilled in ''gestic lore,'' i.e., 
dancing. 

265, 266. The poet Campbell used to say that there was no couplet 
in English poetry which more clearly expressed the vain and happy 
character of the French than these two lines of " The Traveller.'' 

276. Copper lace. — A cheap lace made to imitate the gold lace worn 
by the gentlemen of this period. 

286. Rainpire. — Commonly used for " rampart*' by older writers. 

" The Trojans round the place a rampire cast." 

Dryden's ^iieid^ vii. 213. 

" So down the rampires rolls the rocky shower." 

POPE'S Iliad, xii. 180. 



320. Hydaspes. — A river in the Punjab, now the Jelum, which 
flows through the valley of the Cashmere. In ancient times this river 
was famous, being the subject of many wild, fabulous stories. 

351. In connection with this passage read chapter xix. of *'The 
Vicar of Wakefield '' for Goldsmith's views in regard to the wealth, 
law, and undue power of the aristocracy. 

365. Apostrophes to Liberty were common in the literature of the 
last century. See '* Vicar of Wakefield,'' chap, xix., and Cowper's 
" Task," V. 446. 

388. The reference is probably to Englishmen who returned from 
India with great wealth, and purchased boroughs. The tenants of the 
land were forced to vote as dictated by the " nabob." 

420. This line was written by Dr. Johnson. Says Boswell : '-In 
the year 1783, he, at my request, marked with a pencil the lines which 
he had furnished, which are onlv line four hundred and twentv and the 



384 NOTES. 

concluding ten lines, except the last couplet but one. He added, 
' These are all of which I can be sure. They bear a small proportion 
to the whole.' " 

435. Wheel. — A punishment used in more than one foreign coun- 
try was " breaking on the wheel ; *' i.e., tying the criminal to a wheel, 
and breaking his legs. "Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?*' 
— Pope. 

436. Luke^s iron c?'own. — Two Hungarians, George and Luke 
Zeck, rebelled against the government in 15 14. George Zeck, 7iot 
Luke, was punished by having a red-hot iron crown placed on his 
head, and being made to sit on a red-hot iron throne. 

Damie7is^ bed of steel. — In 1758, Damiens attempted, or pretended 
to attempt, the assassination of Louis XV., King of France, and was 
put to death with terrible barbarity. Goldsmith alludes to this in the 
'' Citizen of the World," letter v. 



CHAPTER XL 

BRYANT'S TO A WATERFOWL. Page 200. 

When Bryant was a young man and was on his way to Plainfield, 
where he was about to begin the practice of law, he witnessed the 
flight of a wild duck. The incident suggested this poem. It is thus 
described in Parke Godwin's life of the poet : — 

" He says in a letter, that he felt, as he walked up the hills, very 
forlorn and desolate indeed, not knowing what was to become of him in 
the big world, which grew bigger as he ascended, and yet darker with 
the coming-on of night. The sun had already set, leaving behind it 
one of those briUiant seas of chrysolite and opal wdiich often flood the 
New-England skies ; and, while he was looking upon the rosy splen- 
dor with rapt admiration, a solitary bird made wing along the illu- 
minated horizon. He watched the lone wanderer until it was lost 
in the distance, asking himself wdiither it had come, and to what far 
home it was flying. When he went to the house where he was to 
stop for the night, his mind was still full of what he had seen and felt; 
and he wrote those lines, as imperishable as our language, 'The 
Water-Fowl.' " 



NOTES, 385 

This beautiful little poem has always been a favorite with the 
earnest reader. It emphasizes clearly and strongly the lesson of trust 
in Divine goodness. 

" Nothing more exquisite can be conceived," says Dr. Ray Palmer, 
"than the picture it presents to the mental eye of the imaginative 
reader. The melody of the verse is as sweet as it is simple. The 
choice of language is perfect. Made up very largely of monosyllabic 
words, the stanzas are clear and strong." 

BRYANTS THANATOPSIS. Page 202. 

This celebrated poem, for over seventy years recognized as one of 
the few great poems of American literature, was written by Bryant 
before he was twenty years old. Some six years after it was wTitten, 
Dr. Bryant, the poet's father, discovered the manuscript among his 
son's papers, and forwarded it for publication in the " North American 
Review " for 1817. As originally printed, the poem comprised only 
about one-half of the verses now included in the production. Addi- 
tions and slight alterations were subsequently made by the author. 

The poem was well received on its first appearance. It was 
generally recognized as a standard production. Professor Wilson 
(Christopher North) praised the poem as "a noble example of true 
poetic enthusiasm," and said that *' it alone would establish the author's 
claim to the honors of genius." 

The word " Thanatopsis " signifies a view or contemplation of 
death ; from two Greek words meaning " a view of death." The poem 
is, in brief, a solemn meditation on the thoughts naturally associated 
with that last " bitter hour " which sooner or later must come to us all. 

37. The hills. — The force and beauty of the epithets in this 
passage are noteworthy. 

50. Take the wings. — Cf. Ps. cxxxix. 9. 

51. Pierce the Barcan wilder7iess. — First written "the Barcan 
desert pierce," afterwards changed to " traverse Barca's desert sands." 
In the later editions, the present reading is given. Barca is a coun- 
try in Northern Africa, bordering on the Great Desert. 

53. Orego7i. — Another name for the Columbia River. At the time 
Bryant wrote, this part of the country w^as an unknown wilderness. 

58-59. Other readings are, " what if thou shouldst fall," and "what 
if thou withdraw unheeded by the living." 



386 NOTES. 

66. Make their bed. — Cf. Ps. cxxxix. 8. 

70. In the place of this line, Bryant formerly wrote: — 

" The bowed with age, the infant in the smiles 
And beauty of its innocent age cut off." 

"^^^ To that 7nysterious reahn. — Originally written, *' To the pale 
realms of shade." 



CHAPTER XII. 

GRAY'S ELEGY. Page 207. 

Gray began his celebrated Elegy in the year 1742, but did not 
finish it until seven years later. To the great annoyance of the 
author, it found its way into print in 1749, from private copies of 
the manuscript presented to his friends. The poem was published 
with the sanction of the author, in 1750. There is little in the Elegy 
to localize the place where it was written or meditated ; but it is gen- 
erally conceded to be Stoke Pogis, v/here Gray's mother lived after 
his father's death. In this churchyard his mother was buried, and 
years afterwards, at his own request, the poet was also laid beside his 
beloved mother. 

The Elegy is perhaps the most widely-known poem in our litera- 
ture. Some of its verses are as familiar as household words to every 
cultivated person. 

" The reason of this extensive popularity," says Hales in his 
*' Longer English Poems," " is perhaps to be sought in the fact that it 
expresses, in an exquisite manner, feelings and thoughts that are 
universal. The Elegy deals with the mysteries of life in no lofty, 
philosophical manner, but in a simple, humble, unpretentious way, 
always with the truest and the broadest humanity." 

" Had Gray written nothing but his Elegy," says Lord Byron, 
^'high as he stands, I am not sure that he would not stand higher; it 
is the corner-stone of his glory." 

I. The Ctirfew. — It is a great mistake to suppose that the ringing 
of the curfew was, at its institution, a mark of Norman oppression. 
If such a custom was unknown before the Conquest, it only shows 
that the old English police was less well regulated than that of many 
parts of the Continent, and how much the superior civilization of the 



iXOTES, 387 

Norman-French was needed. Fires were the curse of the timber- 
built towns of the Middle Ages. The enforced extinction of domestic 
lights at an appointed signal was designed to be a safeguard against 
them. — Hales. 

3. The ploughman . . . way. — A critic in " The North-American 
Review " points out that this line is quite peculiar in its possible trans- 
formations, and adds that he has made '' twenty different versions pre- 
serving the rhythm, the general sentiment, and the rhyming word." 

13. As he stands in the churchyard, he thinks only of the poorer 
people, because the better-to-do lay interred inside the church. 
Tennyson (" In Memoriam," X.) speaks of resting 

" beneath the clover sod 
That takes the sunshine and the rains, 
Or where the kneeling hamlet drains 
The chaHce of the grapes of God." 

In Gray's time, and long before, and some time after it, the former 
resting-place was for the poor, the latter for the rich. — Hales. 

22. Hales remarks ^hat " this is probably the kind of phrase that 
caused Wordsworth to pronounce the language of the Elegy unintel- 
ligible." Wordsworth, however, conveys the idea in the following 
direct manner: — 

•' And she I cherished turned her wheel 
Beside an EngHsh fire." 

23. No children run, etc. — Cf. Burns' " Cotter's Saturday Night," 
21. 

33-36. The boast of heraldry . . . to the grave. — This solemnly 
impressive stanza is associated with a striking event in American 
history. On the night before the attack on Quebec, as the boats were 
silently descending the St. Lawrence, the gallant Gen. Wolfe "re- 
peated in a low tone to the other officers in his boat, those beautiful 
stanzas with which a country churchyard inspired the muse of Gray; 
and at the close of the recitation, ' Now, gentlemen, I would rather 
be the author of that poem than take Quebec' " For himself, he was 
within a few hours to find fulfilment of that noble line, — 

" The paths of glory lead but to the grave." 

— SwiNTONs' Manual of English Classics. 



388 NOTES, 

44. Dull^ cold ear. — Cf. Shakspeare, Henry VIII., iii. 2. 

" And sleep in dull, cold marble." 

51. Rage. — This word is commonly used by the older writers for 
inspiration, enthusiasm. 

57. Hampden. — John Hampden (1594-1647), a distinguished Eng- 
lish patriot and statesman. He was a cousin to Oliver Cromwell. 
In 1636 Hampden refused to pay the ship-money tax which King 
Charles levied without the authority of the Parliament. See Macau- 
lay's " Essay on John Hampden." 

60. Cromwell. — Oliver Cromwell became lord protector of Eng- 
land in 1653. I^ the eighteenth century, the feehng against him 
was exceedingly bitter. 

%^. In explanation of this difficult stanza, Hales suggests that "it 
is better to take the phrase, to du7nb forgetfulness a prey, as in fact 
the completion of the predicate resigned, and interpret thus : * Who 
ever resigned this life of his, with all its pleasures and all its pains, to 
be utterly ignored and forgotten ? ' ^ ' Who ever, when resigning it, 
reconciled himself to its being forgotten ? ' In this case the second 
half of the stanza echoes the thought of the first half." 

Why not make the phrase in Italics, in apposition to who ? In this 
case, give a free paraphrase of the lines. 

115. Lay, — Refers to the rhymed epitaph which follows. 

116. Here the original copy contained this stanza: — 

" There scattered oft, the earliest of the year, 

By hands unseen, are showers of violets found; 
The redbreast loves to build and warble there, 
And little footsteps lightly print the ground." 



CHAPTER XIV. 

BURNS'S COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. Page 226. 

The ^' Cotter's Saturday Night," a noble picture of the domestic 
happiness and devotion of his father's family, was written by Robert 
Burns in 1785. It is dedicated to an intimate friend, Robert Aiken, 
a lawyer in the town of Ayr, Scotland. The poem at once attained 
great popularity, which it has maintained for over a century, wherever 



NOTES, 389 

the English language is spoken. It has frequently furnished subjects 
for the artist. The Cotter is a poetical representation of Burns's 
father. The poem is written partly in the Ayrshire dialect, and partly 
in English. The more homely passages are written in the poet^s dia- 
lect, in the more exalted he uses pure English. The Spenserian 
stanza of nine lines each is the metre used. " It is easy,'' says Hales 
in his " Longer English Poems," " to see in this piece the influence 
of Gray, of Goldsmith, and of Pope ; but easier still to observe the 
freshness and originality of it. There are few, if any, 'interiors ' in 
our literature that rival the one here given for truthfulness, and sincere 
but not exaggerated sentiment." 

I. Friend. — Robert Aiken. See Introductory Note. 

6. Lowly train. — A favorite word with writers of the last cen- 
tury. Goldsmith uses it several times in " The Deserted Village." 

9. I ween. — Perhaps the difficulty of satisfying the severe rhym- 
ing exactions of the Spenserian stanza may partly account for the 
liberal use of archaic words and forms, and of superfluous phrases, 
by all writers of it. Spenser himself takes strange liberties. — Hales. 

10. Angry sugh. — With angry sough, or moaning sound. 
12. Beasts. — Cattle ; frae^ from ; pleugh, plough. 

15. Moil. — Toil. Cf. Dryden, — 

" Now he must moil and drudge for one he loathes." 

18. Cf. Gray's "Elegy," 3. 

21. Toddlin. — Walking with short steps. Stacker. — stagger. 

22. Flichterin. — Corresponds to our w^ord fluttering. 

23. Ifigle. — Fire, fireplace. Wee is common in colloquial English. 
In Shakspeare, Simple speaks of Master Slender's "little wee face." 

24. Wifie. — The Scotch idiom is rich in diminutive forms. 

26. Carkin. — Care. Cark is found in the Elizabethan writers. 

27. Toil. — Pronounced something like tile, in the last century. 
It rhymes here with beguile. 

28. Belyve. — Presently. Bairn is a later form of the old w^ord 
beam, children. 

30. Ca\ — Drive; strictly, call. Tentie rin. — Run heedfully. A 
corruption of " attentive." 

31. Cannie. — Careful. 

34. Braw. — Brave, in the sense oifine. Often used in Shakspeare. 



390 NOTES. 

35. Sair-won. — Dear-won, hard-earned. Penny-fee. — Wages paid 
in money. 

38. Speirs. — From a very old English word meaning to tread on 
the heels ; hence, to track, to investigate. 

40. Uncos. — Uncouth, i.e., unknown things — news. 

44. Gars. — Makes, compels. Claes. — Clothes. WeeVs. — Well as. 

47. Younker. — Youngsters, 

48. Eydent. — Diligent. 

49. Jauk. — Trifle. 

51. Duty. — Expression of dutifulness. Prayers. 

52. Gang. — Go. The noun " gang " meant, originally, a band of 
persons (usually bad characters) ^^/;^^ together. Cf. Acts ix. 2, xxii. 4. 

59. Conscious flatne. — The word co7iscious was popular with the 
writers of the last century, a use derived from the Latin poets. 

62. Hafflins. — Half. 

64. Ben. — From a very old English word meaning within. The 
inner part of the house. 

6"]. Cracks. — Talks. In Shakspeare the word often means, to 
boast. Kye. — Cows. 

69. Blate. — Same as blait, bleat; meaning bashful. Laithfu'. — 
Loathful, reluctant, unwilling, shy. 

72. Lave. — From a very old English word meaning what is left^ 
the rest. 

92. Parritch. — Porridge, commonly of oatmeal. 

93. Soupe. — Means here milk. Hawkie. — Pet name for a cow, 
properly one with a white face. 

94. Hallen. The partition between the fireplace and the door. 

96. Weel hain'd. — Well spared, carefully kept. Kebbuck. — Cheese. 
Fell. — Tasty. 

99. Towmond. — Tolmonth, = twal-month, twelvemonth. Sin'' lint 
was i' the bell. — Since flax was in flower. The idea is, that the cheese 
was a year old last Jlax-b loss ojniiig. 

103. Ha^ Bible. — Literally the hall-Bible, the Bible kept in the 
hall or chief room. The family Bible. 

104. Bonnet. — In old English, as in Scotch still, denoted a man's 
head covering. 

105. Lyart, — Mixed gray. Haffets. — Temples. 
107. Wales. — Chooses. An old English word. 



NOTES. 391 

111-113. Dundee^ Elgin. — Well known Scottish psalm-tunes. 
113. Beets theflafne. — Supplies the flame with fuel. 
143. Society. — Not company, but social enjoyment. 

165. See '^ The Deserted Village," 1. 53. 

166. See Pope's "Essay on Man," iv. 274. 

182. Wallace. — Burns cherished a profound admiration for 
William Wallace. 

BURNS'S TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY. Page 232. 
This charming poem was written at Mossgiel in 1786. What Burns 
meant by a mountain daisy is uncertain. There is no difference be- 
tween the Bellis pe7'ennis of the mountain and the Bellis peretuiis of 
the plain, except perhaps the slight difference of habit, that in the 
mountain plant the leaf is glossier and the petals of the corolla more 
frequently tipped with criaison. The mountain plant is also more 
dwarfed, which probably the poet had in his eye. 
7. '* It is not ; " i.e., " that which touches thee is not." 
13. North. — For " the north wind." How much more natural this 
than " Boreas." Shakespeare uses the south for the south wind. 
"Twelfth Night," Act I., Scene i. 6 : — 

" That strain again ! it hath a dying fall, 
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, 
That breathes upon a bank of violets, 
Stealing and giving odor." 

21. Bield = shelter, refuge from the wind. 23. Histie — dry. 
24. Perhaps suggested to Wordsworth the beautiful verse, — 

" A violet by a mossy stone 
Half-hidden from the eye ; 
Fair as a star, when only one 
Is shining in the sky." 

39. Card. — The surface of the compass, originally made of card- 
board. So in "Macbeth," Act I., Scene iii. : — 

" All the quarters that they know 
r the shipman's card." 

BURNS'S FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT. Page 234. 
This poem was sent to Mr. Thomson in January, 1795. Among 
the confused sounds of excited parties, and amid the uncongenial 



392 A'OTES. 

occupations of granting licenses or gauging malt, himself now for 
some years " passed by on the other side '" by the gentry of Dumfries, 
it is good to think of the poet in his morning walk over the Dock 
Green, or in the evening beside Linchiden Abbey, humming to himself 
and arranging in his mind these thrilling verses, which express in a 
manner at once popular and permanent the principles which appeared 
" revolutionary " to many good people in 1790. 

8. GoiL'd = gold. 10. Hodden-gray. — The poet's favorite color of 
dress. 17. Birkie — lively young fellow. 20. Coof— simpleton. 36. Bear 
the gree = carry off the prize. 

BURNS'S HIGHLAND MARY^ Page 235. 

Sent to a\Ir. Thomson in 1792. "The foregoing song pleases 

myself: I think it is in my happiest manner. The subject of the song 
is one of the most interesting passages of my youthful days." 

BURNS'S TO MARY IN HEAVEN. Page 236. 

The story of the composition of these verses is quiet and affecting. 
On an evening of October, 1789, three years after the death of ]\Iary 
Campbell, the poet came home after a hard day's work in the harvest- 
field. As twilight deepened, he ''seemed to grow very sad about 
something," and left the house. He had a cold; and Mrs. Burns, 
fearing the effect of the frosty evening, came out repeatedly and 
begged him to come in. He always promised, and never came. At 
last ^Irs. Burns found him lying on a heap of straw, with his eyes 
fixed on a planet, which •• shone like another moon.'' He then came 
in, and. sitting down, at once wrote these verses. 

The verses are remarkable in this also, that, though not written in 
the Scotch dialect, they thrill with strength and pathos. 



CHAPTER XVn. 

TENNYSON'S ULYSSES. Page 264. 

Tennyson's masterly poem of "Ulysses" was first published in 
1842. It has been called by a critic as " the soul of all Homer.'' 



iXOTES. 393 

The masculine spirit of these seventy lines can hardly be surpassed 
in our literature. It has been said that '' the germ, the spirit, and the 
sentiment of this poem are from the twenty-sixth canto of Dante's 
'Inferno.'"' Bayne speaks of "'Ulysses" as "one of the healthiest 
and most masterly of all Tennyson's poems." Stedman says that '• for 
virile grandeur and astonishingly compact expression, there is no 
blank-verse poem, equally restricted as to length, that approaches 
' Ulysses ; ' conception, imagery, and thought are royally imaginative, 
and the assured hand is Tennyson's throughout." 

Ulysses, as it is well known, was one of the leading Greek heroes 
engaged in the war against Troy. His valiant deeds are celebrated by 
Homer in his "' Odyssey." In this poem the old Greek hero stands as 
the type of all aspiring souls. 

As the poem opens, Ulysses is supposed to have finished his adven- 
turous wanderings of twenty years, and to have returned home to the 
rugged crags of the island of Ithaca, over which he ruled. The aged 
wife is Penelope. 

10. The rainy Hyades. — A cluster of five stars in the head of 
Taurus, supposed by the ancients to indicate the approach of rainy 
weather when they rose with the sun. 

63. Happy Isles, the *' Fortunate Isles," or Islands of the Blest. 
The early Greeks, as we learn from Homer, placed the Elysian Fields, 
into which the favored heroes passed without dying, at the extremity 
of the earth, near the river Oceanus. In poems later than Homer, an 
island is spoken of as their abode, and is placed by the poets beyond 
the Pillars of Hercules. The name " Fortunate Isles '' was afterwards 
applied to the Canaries. 



TENNYSON'S SIR GALAHAD. Page 266. 

*' Sir Galahad is a noble picture of a religious knight. He is almost 
as much a mystic as a soldier, both a monk and a warrior of the ideal 
type. He foregoes the w^orld as much as if he lived within the mon- 
astery walls, and esteems his sword as sacred to the service of God as 
if it were a cross. His rapture is altogether that of the mystic. He 
is just the embodiment of the noblest and the strongest tendencies of 
the chivalric age.** — Taixsh^S Study of the Works of Tennyson. 

42. The Holy Grail. — This was generally said to be the vessel or 



394 XOTES. 

platter used by Christ at the last supper, in which Joseph of Arima- 
thea caught the blood of the crucified Christ, and by whom it was 
said to have been brought to Britain. It vanished from sight when 
approached by any one not perfectly pure. The legends of Arthur 
and the Knights of the Round Table were founded upon the legend 
of the search for it. Sir Galahad, it is said, at last succeeded in 
finding it. 

TENNYSON'S LOTUS-EATERS. Page 269. 

It is more than sixty years ago that Tennyson first gave to the world 
this delightful, dreamy poem. Ten years later, in 1842, some additions 
were made to the original text. It is founded upon the well-known 
Greek legend of the LotopJiagi (lotus-eaters), which Homer has 
woven into the eleventh book of the "Odyssey." According to the 
legend, the lotus-eaters were a people who ate of the lotus-tree, the 
effect of which was to make them forget their homes and friends, and 
to lose all desire of returning to their native land. They only cared 
to live in ease, luxury, and idleness. In like manner, Tennyson rep- 
resents his islanders as living in a dreamy idleness, weary of life, and 
regardless of all its stirring events. Stedman, in his *' Victorian 
Poets," says that this poem is '• charged from beginning to end with 
the eltects and very language of the Greek pastoral poets. There is 
no consecutive imitation of any one idyll ; but the work is curiously 
filled out with passages borrowed here and there, as the growth of the 
poem revealed them at random to the author's mind.'." 

'•In the 'Lotus-eaters,**' says Peter Bayne. "Tennyson dramati- 
cally embodies and expresses a mood of mind very common in the 
present day: a mood felicitously characterized by ^Vlrs. Browning in 
the words ' enchanted reverie : * a mood in which the weary soul asks 
whether the gains of life are really worth the toil they cost, and 
plaintively acquiesces in the conclusion that ' there is no joy but calm ! ' 
Not one crude, unmelodious. inexpressive, or — so far as I am able 
to detect — imperfect line occurs in this poem. The imagery is mar- 
vellous even for Tennvson. marvellous in its freshness, in its nice 
accuracv of truth to nature, in its beauty, in its deep appropriateness." 

In Homer's *' Odyssey." ix. 82. a description is given of Ulysses's 
arrival in his wanderings at the land of the Lotus-eaters : " But on the 
tenth dav we set foot on the land of the Lotus-eaters, who fed on food 



jXOTES. 395 

of flowers. And there we set foot on shore and drew us water. And 
forthwith my shipmates took their noonday meal by the swift ships. 
But when we had tasted our food and drink, I sent forward shipmates 
to go and ask what manner of men they might be who lived in the 
land by bread, having picked out two men and sent a third with them 
to be a herald. And they went their way forthwith and mixed with 
the Lotus-eaters ; so the Lotus-eaters plotted not harm to our ship- 
mates, but gave them of lotus to eat. But whoever of them ate the 
honey-sweet fruit of the lotus, no longer was he willing to bring back 
tidings or to come back ; but there they wished to abide, feeding on 
the lotus with the Lotus-eaters, and all forgetful of home.*"' 

This lotus is an African plant, known as the Cyrenean lotus. It is 
a low, thorny shrub, and is still prized at Tunis and Tripoli, under the 
name oi jujube. 

'- It may be fanciful,'' says a critic, " but we have often thought that 
as Tennyson was indebted to Homer for the suggestion of the ' Lotus- 
Eaters,' so he must have been fresh from the study of Bion and 
Moschus wdien he sat himself down to the composition of that deli- 
cious poem. In two of their exquisite fragments are to be found all 
those qualities which characterize Tennyson's poem, — its languid and 
dreamy beauty, its soft and luscious verse, its tone, its sentiment." 

See the passages, — 

" Was nought around but images of rest '' 

^' Meantime unnumbered streamlets played " 

" A pleasant land of drowsihead it was -' 

in Thomson's *' Castle of Indolence.*' * 

In the " Lotus-Eaters '' Tennyson gives dramatic expression to that 
mood of weary disgust in which doubts will force themselves on the 
mind whether life has any prize to offer worth the toil and trouble of 
winning. 

3. /;/ ///^ afte7'noon. — According to Theocritus, the Argonauts 
came in the afternoon unto a land of cliffs and thickets and streams ; 
of meadows set with sedge, whence they cut for their couches sharp 
flowering rush and the low galingale. 

9. "What a delicately true picture we have here — where we feel 
also the poet's remarkable faculty of making word and rhythm an echo 



39^ .\OTES. 

and auxiliary of the sense. Not only have we the three caesuras re- 
spectively after ' fall * and ' pause * and * fall,* but the length and soft 
amplitude of the vowel sounds with liquid consonants aid in the reali- 
zation of the picture, reminding of Milton's beautiful ' From morn To 
noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve, A summer's day.' *' — The Ctvi- 
te)fip07'ary Review. 

II. Slow-dropping veils. — "Whoever has seen a stream in its 
midsummer slenderness of volume, falling down a front of rock di- 
vided into steps or ledges, will admit that no words could possibly 
surpass in descriptive precision these last.*- — Bayne. 

23. GaUjigale. — A sweet-smelling marsh plant with light green 
flowers. 

27. Xotice how skilfully the poet in this line, as well as in many 
others, makes the rhythm of the verse correspond to the action of the 
piece. 

70. ** Equally wonderful are those lines in which, as contrasted 
with the feverish unrest, with the tumultuous wearing activity, of hu- 
man existence, the deep quietude of nature's operations in the vege- 
table world is shadowed forth." — Bayne. 

133. A/naranth. — A fabulous unfading flow^er. ]\Iilton*s '' Paradise 
Lost.*" III. 354, has " Immortal amarant.** Moly. — A fabulous plant 
of magic potency — 

•• Black was the root, but milky-white the flower " — 

given by Hermes to Odysseus as a counter-charm to the enchanted 
draught of Cnxe. See Homer's *' Odyssey,*" x. 305, and ^lilton's 
'• Comus.'" 636. 

150. The rest of this poem from line 150 was added in the revised 
edition of 1842. 

156. For they lie, etc. — Bayne says, in his '* Lessons from my 
^Masters,"* that Tennyson must have derived the suggestion of this 
passage from the Song of the Fates, repeated by Iphigenia at the end 
of the fourth act of Goethe*s- drama of the same name. There is no 
thought of plagiarism, because Tennyson's treatment is entirely his 
own. 

170. Asphodel. — A lily-shaped plant, the roots of which were eaten : 
often mentioned by Greek authors. Homer, " Odyssey," ii. 539, de- 



NOTES. 397 

scribes the shades of heroes as haunting an asphodel meadow. Milton, 
"Paradise Lost,'' IX. 1040, has -^ Pansies, and violets, and asphodel." 

TENNYSON'S MORTE D'ARTHUR. Page 275. 

This poem was first published in 1842. 

King Arthur had been made the hero of so many fictitious adven- 
tures by the romancers and poets of the Middle Ages that the belief 
was long held that he was an entirely mythical personage. ^lodern 
investigations, however, have proved that Arthur was the name of a 
sixth century war-leader of Britain. Sir Thomas Malory, an English 
knight, published his " Morte d'Arthur," or Death of Arthur, an 
account derived from the old romances of the birth of Arthur, the 
formation of the knightly order of the Round Table, the exploits of 
the knights, and, finally, of Arthur's death or passing away. The 
book was printed by Caxton in 1485. It is from Malory's book that 
Tennyson derived most of the incidents narrated in his " Idylls of the 
King" and in the earlier " Morte d'Arthur." 

Many other English authors have taken King Arthur as the central 
figure of their poems. Spenser, in his "Faerie Oueene," makes 
" Prince Arthure " the type of " magnificence : "' i.e., " of noble deeds.'' 

By the writers of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries the 
legend of Arthur was regarded as purely the invention of Geoffrey 
of Monmouth. Milton originally intended to make Arthur the hero 
of his great epic, but doubting "who he was, and whether any such 
reigned in history,'' rejected the Round Table as a subject in favor of 
the loss of Paradise. 

In later times, Sir Walter Scott edited with notes the old romance 
of " Sir Tristrem,'' and introduced into his " Bridal of Triermaine " a 
story of King Arthur's love for a fairy princess. 

Lastly, Tennyson in his earlier poems shows that the legends of 
King Arthur and his knights had taken hold of his youthful imagina- 
tion. In " The Palace of Art," Arthur is spoken of as " Mystic 
Uther's deeply wounded son;'' while the poems, "Sir Lancelot and 
Guinevere" (a fragment), "The Lady of Shalott," "Sir Gahalad," 
and finally " ]\Iorte d'Arthur,'' are all founded on incidents narrated 
in the legends. Tennyson's great work, " Idylls of the King," as 
now published, is prefaced by "The Coming of Arthur," an account 
of Arthur's mvsterious birtli and of his coronation : then comes " The 



398 NOTES, 

Round Table,'* a series of pictures of the feats of Arthur's knights 
and of the life at Arthur's court ; and the whole concludes with 
'' The Passing of Arthur,*' an account of Arthur's last great battle and 
his death. In this last poem is incorporated the earlier ''Morte 
d' Arthur." 

The *' Morte d' Arthur" is introduced by some prefatory lines 
entitled " The Epic,"* the thread of which is taken up again in some 
concluding lines added at the close. ''The Epic*' represents four 
friends sitting together on Christmas Eve : one of them is prevailed 
upon to read aloud portions of an epic poem which he had composed 
at college. The poem was originally in twelve books, but the author 
had throwm them into the fire as being " faint Homeric echoes, nothing 
w^orth,*' in which '' nothing new was said ; '^ and the '' Morte d' Arthur "' 
is represented to be the only remaining fragment of the larger work. 
One of the friends had been lamenting " the general decay of faith 
right through the world, ■' and it is as a kind of answer to his despond- 
ent talk that the poem is read aloud. 

In '*The Epic'' and in the lines added at the conclusion of the 
original "Morte d' Arthur,** and again in the dedication *• To the 
Queen " at the end of the last Id3"ll, Tennyson tells us of the moral 
purpose he has meant to infuse into his great work. The Arthur 
herein depicted is no mere reproduction of Geoffrey's or ]\Ialory's 
chivalric hero, and the interest of the poem does not lie in its being a 
picture of old times. Its purpose is to typify the continual struggle in 
man's heart between the lower and the higher instincts of his nature. 
It shadows " Sense of war with soul,*' evil fighting against good, and 
overcoming it. But the triumph of evil is short-lived. Excalibur may 
indeed be cast aw^ay and vanish from the earth ; for, in the moral as in 
the physical world, without change there can be no progress. But 
" Arthur will come again," and new weapons from heaven will be given 
to the champions of Truth in successive generations. 

It will be observed that the "Morte d'Arthur** is more closely 
modelled on Homer than are any of the Idylls. In fact, in the 
concentration of the interest on the hero, in the straightforward 
simplicity and martial terseness of the narrative, as well as in the 
strong vigor of its Saxon diction, this poem stands quite apart and 
in marked contrast to the great series in which it was subsequently 
inserted. 



NOTES. 399 

The incidents in Arthur's career that immediately preceded his 
death are briefly these. The queen, Guinevere, had left the king's 
court, and fled to hiding at the nunnery of Amesbury, owing to the 
discovery by the treacherous Modred, the king's nephew, of her love 
for Lancelot. King Arthur had gone to attack Lancelot in the north ; 
during his absence Modred had raised a revolt, and had had himself 
crowned king. The king marched south, and pursued Modred to the 
west coast. On his way he stopped at Amesbury, and had the farewell 
interview with the repentant queen so beautifully described in the Idyll 
of " Guinevere.'" Arthur's host came up with that of Modred on the 
extreme southwest coast ; and, in the ensuing battle, Arthur slew 
Modred with his own hand, but was himself mortally wounded in the 
encounter. The poem commences at the point w^here Arthur has just 
given and received the fatal blow. 

I. So all day long. — '' So '' = "as above described," and calls 
attention to the fact that the poem is supposed to be but a fragment 
of a larger work. 

3. King ArtJuir'^s table. — The knights of the Round Table ; i.e., of 
the order of knighthood established by King Arthur. The order is 
said to have taken its name from a large round table at w^iich the 
king and his knights sat for meals. Such a table is still preserved at 
Winchester as having belonged to King Arthur. 

4. Lyonnesse. — A fabulous country on the Cornish coast, said 
to be now covered by the sea. 

21. Canielot. — The city where Arthur held his court, now^ identified 
with a town called Queen Camel, in Somersetshire, where remains of 
the vast intrenchments of an ancient town are still to be seen. The 
traditions of the villager still preserve the name of Arthur ; the bridge 
over the river Camel is called " Arthur's Bridge,*' and there is a spring 
in the neighborhood called " Arthur's Well." A description of Arthur's 
mysterious hall at Camelot is given in the Idyll of "The Holy Grail," 
in the lines beginning, — 

" O brother, had you known our mighty hall, 
Which Merhn built for Arthur long ago." 

23. Merlin.^- ""ThQ great enchanter of the time," the famous 
magician of the Arthurian legends. His prophecy regarding Arthur's 
second coming is mentioned in " The Coming of Arthur : '' — 



400 NOTES. 

'' And Merlin in our time 
Hath spoken also, not in jest, and sworn, 
Though men may wound him, that he will not die, 
But pass, and come again." 

The Idyll of "Merlin and Vivien'" gives an account of Merlin's 
fate. 

27. Excalibui^. — Arthur's magic sword. In Malory's " Morte 
d' Arthur," ii. 3, the Lady of the Lake, who had given Arthur the 
sword, says, " The name of it is Excalibur, that is as much as to say 
Cut-steeL"" According to the romance of '' Merlin," the sword bore 
the following inscription : — 

" Ich am y-hote Escalabore, 
Unto a king a fair tresore ; " 



and it is added ; - 



• On Inglis is this writing, 
Kerve steel and yren and al thing." 



The sword and the way it came into Arthur's possession are described 
by Tennyson in " The Coming of Arthur." 

104. Maiden of the Lake. — Malory thus describes Arthur's first 
meeting with this lady: " With that they saw a damsel going on the 
lake. ' What damsel is that ? ' said Arthur. ' That is the Lady of the 
Lake,' said Merlin ; ' and within that lake is a rock, and therein is as 
fair a palace as any on earth, and richly beseen.'" The Lady of the 
Lake is in some of the romances identified with Vivien. Lancelot is 
called "Lancelot of the Lake," from his having been educated at this 
lady's court; see the Idyll of " Lancelot and Elaine," where the Lady 
is said to have stolen Lancelot from his mother's arms. 

121. Anthority . . . will, — When the commanding look that in- 
spires awe and obedience passes from the eye of a king, he loses 
therewith his authority over his subjects. A critic has remarked that 
this personification (of authority) is "thoroughly Shakspearian : it 
assists the imagination without distressing the understanding, as when 
dwelt on and expended in detail; deepening the impression of the 
sentiment by giving along with a true thought a grand picture." — 
Brimley's Essays. 

148. All d flashing . . . in an arch, — "A splendid instance of sound 
answering to sense, which the older critics made so much of ; the ad- 



A'OTES. 401 

ditional syllable (in the last foot, in an drcJi) which breaks the measure, 
and necessitates an increased rapidity of utterance, seeming to express 
to the ear the rush of the sword up its parabolic curve.'' — Brimley. 

197. Black-stoled. — The stole was a long, loose robe reaching to 
the feet. Cf. '^ In stoles of white "' (" Sir Galahad '"). With this de- 
scription contrast that of the ship in '' The Coming of Arthur: " — 

" And all from stem to stern 
Bright with a shining people on the decks." 

198. Three Qjieeiis. These three queens are mentioned in ''The 
Coming of Arthur : *" — 

" Three fair Queens. 
Who stood in silence near his throne, the friends 
Of Arthur, gazing on him, tall, with bright 
Sweet faces, who will help him at his need.'' 

The three queens are perhaps intended to typify the three great Christian 
virtues, Faith, Hope, Charity, who help the soul in its battle against evil. 

233. The light . . . iJiyrrJi. — Arthur is compared with the star in 
the East which appeared at Christ's birth to the Magi, or Wise Men, 
and led them to Bethlehem, where they presented to the new-born 
child offerings of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. 

255. Bound by gold chains. — The notion of the earth being at- 
tached to heaven by a golden chain perhaps originated in the passage 
in Homer's " Iliad,"' viii. 19-30. Frequent allusions to this supposition 
are to be found scattered throughout English literature. Thus Bacon, 
in his "Advancement of Learning,"' i. 1. 3, says, ''According to the 
allegory of the poets the highest link of nature's chain must needs 
be tied to the foot of Jupiters chair,*' and cf. " Advancement of 
Learning,'' ii. vi. i, and "Essays," 16. 10. Jeremy Taylor writes, 
" Faith is the golden chain to link the penitent sinner to God." Cf. — 

'■'• She held a great gold chaine 3'lincked well, 
Whose upper end to highest heven was knitt.*' 

Spenser. 

" Hanging in a golden chain 
This pendent world."' 

M ILTON. 



402 jWOTES, 

" For, letting down the golden chain from high, 
He drew his audience upward to the sky." 

Dryden. 

259. Isla7id-valley of Avilion. — Avilion, or Avalon ("dozing in 
the Vale of Avalon, •' ("Palace of Art"), is supposed to have been the 
name of a valley in the neighborhood of Glastonbury, the town in 
Somersetshire where Joseph of Arimathea is said to have first landed 
with the Holy Grail. See the Idyll of " The Holy Grail." 

267. E7'e lie?' death. — The tradition that the swan previously to her 
death sings a sw^eet song is one of long standing. Cf. Virgil, *' . . . 
qualis trajectus tempora penna Cantat olor."' See Tennyson*s "The 
Dying Swan;" also Shakspeare's " Othello," v. ii. 247, "I will play 
the swan and die in music," and many other passages. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

ADDISON'S SPECTATOR. Page 287. 

These essays are taken from Addison's contributions to the 
" Spectator," of w^hich the first number appeared on the ist of March, 
171 1. This famous periodical was published daily, and each number 
was an essay on a great variety of subjects. The " Spectator " was 
issued six hundred and thirty-five times, but these issues w^ere not 
consecutive. It appeared every morning in the shape of a single leaf, 
and was received at the breakfast-tables of most persons of taste then 
living in London. It has since passed through innumerable editions. 
" Under the circumstances, the sale of the ' Spectator,' " says Macau- 
lay, " must be considered as indicating a popularity quite as great as 
that of the most successful works of Sir Walter Scott and Dickens in 
our own time." In the course of the work, several fictitious persons 
were introduced as friends of the supposed editor, partly for amuse- 
ment, and partly for the purpose of quoting them on occasions where 
their opinions might be supposed appropriate. Thus, a country gentle- 
man was described under the name of Sir Roger de Coverley, to whom 
reference was made when matters connected with rural affairs were in 



NOTES. 403 

question. A Captain Sentry stood up for the army, Will Honeycomb 
gave law on all things concerning the gay world, and Sir Andrew 
Freeport represented the commercial interest. Of these characters, 
Sir Roger was by far the most happily dehneated. It is understood 
that he was entirely a being of Addison's imagination ; and certainly, 
in the whole round of English fiction, there is no character delineated 
with more masterly strokes of humor and tenderness. 

It is understood, of course, that half a dozen essays from the 
" Spectator " can give the young student no proper idea of the scope 
of this masterly series of five or six hundred essays. As a whole, 
they have the interest of a novel, and give a lively and powerful pic- 
ture of the common life and manners of Endand at that time. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

BYRON'S PRISONER OF CHILLON. Page 299. 

This poem was written in Switzerland, in 181 6, shortly after Byron 
left England for the last time. When the piece was written, Byron did 
not know of any actual captive. A casual visit to the dungeon sug- 
gested the poem. There was, however, a real "prisoner of Chillon," 
named Bonnivard, who was imprisoned in Chillon for some political 
cause for six years from 1530 to 1536. 

When Byron became familiar with the story of Bonnivard, he 
celebrated him in the following noble sonnet : — 

-'• Eternal spirit of the chainless mind ! 
Brightest in dungeons, Liberty, thou art, 
For there thy habitation is the heart, — 
The heart which love of thee alone can bind ; 
And when thy sons to fetters are consigned — 
To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom — 
Their country conquers with their martyrdom, 
And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. 
Chillon ! thy prison is a holy place. 
And thy sad floor an altar, for 'twas trod 
Until his very steps have left a trace, 
Worn as if thy cold pavement were a sod, 
By Bonnivard ! May none those marks efface I 
For they appeal from tyranny to God." 



404 NOTES, 

The " Prisoner of Chillon " does not represent Byron at his best. 
Isolated passages from " Childe Harold" and other long poems illus- 
trate better that remarkable poetic power which is called Byronic. 
This poem is, however, of deep abiding interest to young people, and 
is generally ranked as a noteworthy specimen of Byron's vigor and 
mastery of language. 

4. " Ludovico Sforza and others. The same is asserted of Marie 
Antoinette's, the wife of Louis the Sixteenth, though not in quite so 
short a period. Grief is said to have the same effect ; to such, and not 
to fear, this change in hers was to be attributed." — Byron. 

See Shakespeare (i Henry IV. II. iv. 393): 

" Thy father's beard is turned white with the news." 

10. Bann'd. — Commonly used only oi perso?is j here it is used of 
things. Means here prohibited or interdicted. 

11. This was, etc. — The word this should be //, otherwise line 12 
is pleonastic. 11. My fathers'" faith. — It must be remembered that 
Bonnivard was imprisoned for political, and not religious, reasons. 

" Bonnivard, prior of St. Victor, in his endeavors to free the 
Genoese from the tyranny of Charles V. of Savoy, became very 
obnoxious to that monarch, who had him seized secretly and conveyed 
to the Castle of Chillon, where for six long years he was confined in a 
dungeon. In 1536, when the cantons of Vaud and Geneva had 
obtained their independence, the castle resisted for a long time ; but 
it was eventually captured by the Bernese, and Bonnivard and the 
other prisoners obtained their liberty." 

28. In Chillo?i^s dungeons. — The massive Castle of Chillon stands 
on an isolated rock in Lake Leman, in Switzerland. The castle is 
only a short distance from the shore, with which it is connected by a 
bridge. 

According to Murray's Handbook for Switzerland, *' the dungeon 
of Bonnivard is airy and spacious, consisting of two aisles, almost 
like the crypt of a church. It is lighted by several windows, through 
which the sun's light passes by reflection from the surface of the 
lake up to the roof, transmitting partly also the blue color of 
the waters." 

53. That made us strangers, — See Milton's *' Paradise Lost," 
Book I. lines 61-64: — 



NOTES, 405 

" A dungeon horrible on all sides round 
As one great furnace flamed ; yet from those flames 
No light ; but rather darkiiess visible 
Served only to discover sights of woe." 

189. Those he left behind. — The plural is used, although the elder 
brother is the sole survivor. 

Hales in his '^ Longer English Poems " says, '' There is much delic. 
cacy in this plural. By such a fanciful multiplying of the survivors, 
the elder brother prevents self-intrusion ; himself and his loneliness 
are, as it were, kept out of sight and forgotten." 

231-250. This passage describing the deadly torpor that came on 
the prisoner (stanza ix.) is a capital specimen of Byron's wonderful 
power of language and masterly description. 

Hales says, " He is saved from that deadly torpor by the song of a 
bird, just as the Ancient Mariner is delivered from a like stagnancy by 
the sight of the fishes disporting themselves. The sympathies of his 
nature are awakened once more. His heart softens. He lives again.'' 

294. See Wordsworth's " Daffodils : " — 

" I wandered lonely as a cloud, 
That floats on high o'er vales and hills." 

378. A he7'7nitage. — The student maybe reminded of Lovelace's 
famous lines : — 

" Stone walls dp not a prison make, 
Nor iron bars a cage ; 
Minds innocent and quiet take 
That for an hermitage." 



CHAPTER XX. 

COWPER'S MOTHER'S PICTURE. Page 314. 

This beautiful poem was written by Cowper ten years before his 
death. He said that he had more pleasure in writing this poem than 
any other of his except one addressed to Mrs. Unwin, beginning 
" Mary ! I want a lyre of other strings." 

The letter acknowledging the receipt of the picture is dated Feb. 
27, 1790, and addressed to his cousin Mrs. Bodham. In one part of 
the letter the poet says, — 



4o6 NOTES, 

" The world could not have furnished you with a present so accept- 
able to me as the picture which you have so kindly sent me. I 
received it the night before last, and viewed it with a trepidation of 
nerves and spirits somewhat akin to what I should have felt had the 
dear original presented herself to my embraces. I kissed it, and hung 
it where it is the last object that I see at night, and, of course, the 
first on which I open my eyes in the morning. She died when I com- 
pleted my sixth year; yet I remember her well, and am an ocular 
witness of the great fidelity of the copy." 

46. Cowper's father was rector at Great Berkhamstead, England. 
He died in 1756. 

^6. " I can truly say," said Cowper, nearly fifty years after his 
mother's death, " that not a week passes (perhaps I might with equal 
veracity say a day) in which I do not think of her: such was the 
impression her tenderness made upon me, though the opportunity she 
had for showing it was so short." 

71. Nujfibers. — This was a favorite word with the poets of the last 
century. Pope said, — 

'^ I lisped in numbers, for the numbers came." 

97. This line is quoted from a poem called '^ The Dispensary," by 
an obscure author named Garth. 

108. Cowper's mother was descended from several noble families, 
tracing her ancestry through four different lines to Henry III., King 
of England. 



CHAPTER XXII. 

MILTON'S LYCIDAS. Page 326. 

Milton wrote this elegy as a tribute to the memory of his friend 
Edward King, who was drowned in 1637 in his passage from Chester 
to Ireland. Those who escaped the wreck told the story of his end, 
how he knelt in prayer on the sinking deck, and so went down. A 
volume of verses was dedicated to the memory of King by his Cam- 
bridge friends. Milton's contribution, written in November, 1637, 
was " Lycidas," signed with his initials only. The verses were pub- 
lished in 1638. The style and versification of " LycTdas " show evi- 
dence of the influence of Spenser and of Milton's study of the Itahan 



NOTES, 407 

classics. " In * Lycidas,' " says Mark Pattison, " we have reached the 
high-water mark of EngHsh poesy, and of Milton's own production. 
In the development of the Miltonic genius this wonderful dirge marks 
the culminating point." 

I. Vet once more. — Milton had the highest conception of a poet's 
work, and of the preparation needed for it, He had determined to 
write no more until "the mellowing year" and '' inward ripeness" had 
better fitted him for the task which he thought himself destined to 
achieve. The death of his "learned friend "' compels him to forego 
the resolution. 

Some critics suppose that the phrase refers to his earlier elegies, 
or is merely a formula (as with Spenser) in imitation of Virgil's " Ille 
ego qiti qtiondain^^'' etc. 

I, 2. Laurels., myrtles^ ivy. — Symbolical of poetry, and emblem- 
atical of immortality. 

15. The sacred well. — The allusion is to Pieria, the spring near 
Mount Olympus, in Macedonia. 

19. Muse. — Here used for the poet inspired by her. 

23. Selfsame hill. — " The hill is, of course, Cambridge ; the joint 
feeding of the flocks is companionship in study ; the rural ditties on 
the oaten flute are academic iambics and elegiacs ; and old Damoetas 
is either Chappell, whom Milton has long forgiven [the rustication 
affair; see Life of Milton, vol. i. p. ix., Clarendon Press edition], or 
some more kindly fellow of Christ's." — Masson. 

25. Lawns. — Open space between woods. Cf. Gray's Elegy, 1. 100. 

26. Eyelids of the 7norn. — Cf. marginal reading of Job iii. 9. 

28. Gray-fly. — Also called the trumpet-fly. Hums sharply during 
the hottest part of the day. 

29. Batteni7ig. — Feeding or fattening. Wedgewood connects the 
word with better. 

33. Tempered. — Modulated. Oaten flute is the '•'tenuis avena'''' of 
Virgil, and the "oaten straw" and "oaten stop" of the Enghsh poets. 

34. Satyrs and Fauns. — The Satyrs were rural deities, in form half 
man and half goat, inhabiting forests. The Fauns were also rural deities, 
very like the Satyrs, but bore a nearer resemblance to human beings. 

" The Satyrs and Fauns may be the miscellaneous Cambridge 
undergraduates ; and old Damoetas may be some fellow or tutor of 
Christ's College, if not Dr. Bainbridge, the master." — Masson. 



4o8 NOTES, 

40. Gadding. — Straying. Marvell speaks of ^'gadding vines.'' 
Bacon says, " Envy is 3. gadding passion, and walketh the streets, and 
doth not keep at home." 

45. Canker. — Used here for canker-worm. 

49. Taint-worm. — The quaint old writer, Sir Thomas Browne, 
alludes to a small red spider called " taint," and regarded by the 
country people as a deadly poison to cows and horses. 

52. The steep. — '• This," says Masson, "may be any of the Welsh 
mountains where the Druids lie buried," Mr. Keightley suggests 
Penmaenmawr. This overhangs the sea opposite Anglesey. It is 
1,400 feet high, and is crowned with ruins of ancient fortifications. 

54. Afona. — The reference is to Anglesea, not the Isle of Man. 

SS- Deva. — The river Dee forms the old boundary between Eng- 
land and Wales. 

^%. Muse herself. — Calliope. 

63. Hebrus. — Now known as the river Maritza. Lesbia7i. — The 
island Lesbos was in the ^gean Sea, some eighty miles from the 
mouth of the Hebrus. 

64. Shakspeare, Beaumont, Fletcher, Massinger, and other bright 
lights of the Ehzabethan age, had for some years passed away. The 
last representative of that great race — Ben Jonson — had just been 
gathered to his fellows. The race of poets which had succeeded were 
of a different breed. The dramatic period was over. There arose 
a tribe of light lyric poets, — Herrick, Suckhng, Donne, Lovelace, 
Wither. It is easy to understand how, to one of Milton's high poetic 
theory and purpose, the popularity of these triflers must have suggested 
despair for himself and for his time. — Hales : Longer English Poe?ns. 

67. Use. — Are wont to do. 

65. Amaryllis and A'^ecera, — In pastoral poetry, girls beloved by 
the shepherds. 

70. Clear. — Noble, illustrious. Thus used often by Shakspeare. 

"j^. Fury. — The word is used here probably in a general sense. 
It was one of the Fates (and not one of the Furies) who was fabled 
to cut one's thread of life. 

S^. Arethuse and Mincius. — Allusion is made to Theocritus, the 
Sicilian poet, and to Virgil, born near the Mincius. Arethuse was a 
fountain in Sicily, and ]\Iincius was a stream near ^Mantua, the birth- 
place of Virgil. 



NOTES, 409 

91. FeIo7t. — Perhaps akin to Anglo-Saxon fell^ in the sense of 
cruel. The origin of the word is uncertain. 

96. Hippotades. — ^okis, the god of the winds, son of Hippotes. 

99. Pa?iope, — Alluded to in Homer as one of the fifty sea-nymphs 
\vho lived in a palace at the bottom of the sea. Her sisters are the 
Nereids. Virgil calls her Panopea. The name means ''the far-seeing 
one/' hence she is especially named here by Milton. 

1 01. I?i the eclipse. — Popular superstition once regarded the eclipse 
as a time of evil omen. 

103. Ca??ms. — God of the river Cam, near which Cambridge Uni- 
versity is situated. 

105. Figtires di7?i. — What figures are here meant, has not yet been 
satisfactorily explained. Warburton says allusion is made '• to the 
fabulous traditions of the high antiquity of Cambridge." Others think, 
to certain natural streaks on sedge-leaves or flags " when dried, or 
even beginning to wither." — Hales : Lo?iger English Poems. 

106. Sangicine flower. — The hyacinth ; according to fable, the 
flower sprung from the blood of a youth of that name, who was 
accidentally killed by Apollo. For an interesting critical examination 
and exposition of lines 108-129, see Ruskin's '* Sesame and Lilies." 

109. Pilot. — St. Peter. See Matt. iv. 18-22; Luke v. i-ii. 

no. Two keys. — See Matt. xvi. 19. 

115. See "Paradise Lost," iv. 193 ; St. John x. 12, 13. 

124. Scra7ineL — Thin, meagre. This harsh-sounding line imitates 
the discordant notes of the false shepherds. 

Gri7n wolf. — Who is the "grim wolf ".^ Some make it the wolf 
in sheep's clothing, of ^latt. vii. 15; others, the rapacious shepherd 
of Acts XX. 29. ]\Iorley thinks it is '• the Devil, great enemy of the 
Christian sheepfold." 

130. But that two-handed engine. — "Either the axe of the gospel 
(Matt. iii. 10; Luke iii. 9); or the executioner Death with his scythe ; 
or the sword of the Archangel Michael alluded to in line 161, etc. 
(Par. Lost, VL 251); or the two-edged sword of the Son of man (Rev. 
i. 16, ii. 12, 16); or the two houses of Parliament; or, according to 
Morley, 'the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God') Eph. vi. 
17); ' two-handed,' because we lay hold of it by the Old Testament and 
the New." The usual explanation makes it the headsman's axe. This 
would seem, however, to be an after-thouo:ht. See a lono; and learned 



4IO NOTES. 

note on the line in Masson's '' Milton's Poetical Works,'' vol. iii. 
pp. 454-456. — Homer B. Sprague. 

132. Alpheus. — A river in Arcadia. Consult a classical dictionary 
concerning the legend about Arethusa, the " Sicilian Muse." 

138. Swart-star. — Sirius, the dog-star. It rose at Athens about 
midsummer. Called swart, or swarthy, from the effects of heat on the 
complexion. 

142-151. See Shakspeare's '• Cymbeline,** IV. ii. 220-230; '-Win- 
ter's Tale," IV. iv. 122. 

142. Rathe. — The old word for early, hence rather, earlier. 

160. Bellerus. — One of the old Cornish giants. The word is 
coined by Milton from •• Bellerium.*' 

i6r. Vision. — ''The vision here is that of the Archangel Michael. 
who is related to have appeared on the mount subsequently named 
after him, seated on a crag, looking seaward. A monastery was 
founded on the spot, and the so-called 'chair* is a fragment of the 
lantern of that building. ?vIilton supposes the archangel still seated 
(as in the vision), looking to Namancos near Cape Finisterre." — R. G. 
Browne's ed. of Lycidas. 

163. Angel. — The critics generally make this an apostrophe to the 
"great vision," the Archangel Michael. 

164. Dolphi7is. — The sweet singer Arion was carried safely by the 
dolphins through the seas to land. 

173. Walked the waves. — Cf. Matt. xiv. 25, 26; Mark vi. 48, 49. 

176. Ahiptial song. — Rev. xiv. 3, xix. 7, 9, xxi. 9. 

181. Wipe the tears. — Isa. xxv. 8 ; Rev. vii. 17, xxi. 4. 

188. Stop. — The hole of a flute or pipe. Quill, used by Spenser 
for the shepherd's pipe. 

189. Doric lay. — Two famous poets were natives of Syracuse, a 
Dorian colony. Means here a poem in the pastoral style. 



CHAPTER XXHI. 
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH'S ODE TO IMMORTALITY. Page 338. 

This ode, in which the expression of Wordsworth's philosop'ny 
reached its climax, was written between 1803 and 1806, during tlie 
poet's hfe at Grasmere, in the years immediately following his marriage. 



NOTES. 411 

It was contained among the poems published in two volumes in 1807. 
The author has headed the ode with a quotation from a little poem 
written in 1804: — 

" The child is father of the man, 
And I could wish my days to be 
Bound each to each by natural piety." 

The metre of the ode is irregular, though the feet throughout are iam- 
bic. The lines vary in length from the Alexandrine to the line with 
two accents. There is a constant ebb and flow in the full tide of song, 
but scarce two waves are alike. 

The following analysis, brief and inadequate as it is, may help the 
pupil to trace the connection of ideas, and understand the poem as a 
whole. 

(Stanzas i.-iv.) In early childhood all nature seemed resplendent. 
Now in manhood, though all around me laughs, I feel the glory faded. 
I try to sympathize with the universal joy, but the very fields remind 
me of my loss. 

(Stanza v.) This feeling is accounted for. We existed before our 
birth into this human world. We are come from God ; and thus in 
infancy we bear in us most clearly the traces of our heavenly origin, 
traces which fade before advancing manhood. 

(Stanza vi.) All things of earth tend to make us forget our former 
state. Even the infant, forgetful of his high descent and calling, imi- 
tates the occupations of his elders, and seeks to anticipate the bonds 
of custom. 

(Stanza ix.) Yet all is not lost. There yet remain some records 
of our heavenly childhood ; not only the memory of its innocence and 
freedom, but that feeling of the unreality of an external world which 
comes back upon us in our highest moods, and tells us of our spiritual 
origin. 

(Stanza x.) Therefore can I still rejoice in nature ; for though I 
see no more the vivid splendors of my childhood, the loss is more 
than compensated by the human sympathies of riper years, through 
which I see new and nobler meanings in the beauty of the humblest 
flower. 

4. Celestial light. — Cf. Ps. civ. 2. ' 

23. Cf. Ps. xxxix. 3, 4. 



412 NOTES. 

38. Cf. Ps. Ixv. 13. Jubilee, — Cf. " Paradise Lost," III. 347. 
The main idea of this ode is treated in a very remarkable piece by 
Henry Vaughan, a poet of the seventeenth century: — 

" Happy those early days, when I 
Shined in my angel-infancy ! " etc. 

Compare, too, Shelley's " Lament: '' — 

'- O World ! O Life ! O Time ! 
On whose last steps I climb, 

Trembling at that where I had stood before ; 
When will return the glory of your prime? 
No more — O never more." 

See also Hood's lines, I re7}ie77ibery I re7neinber, last stanza: — 

"I remember, I remember 

The fir-trees dark and high ; 
I used to think their slender tops 

Were close against the sky." . . 

51. Read Wordsworth^s poem beginning, *' 'Tis said that some 
have died for love," as a beautiful expression of the strong and pa^ 
thetic associative power of scenery. 

Compare Browning : — • . ' 

" Only, one little sight, one plant 

Woods have in INIay, that starts up green 

Save a sole streak, which, so to speak 

Is spring's blood spilt its leaves between — 

This they might spare." 

58. Ou7' bii'th is but a sleep a7id a forgetti7ig. — This ode, and es*- 
pecially this and the following stanza, are frequently called " Platonic." 
It must, however, be remembered that, although Wordsworth coin- 
cides with Plato in assigning to mankind a life previous to their^humaft 
one, he differs from him in making life ''a sleep and a forgetting," 
while Plato makes life a tedious and imperfect process of reminding. 
With Wordsworth the infant, with Plato the philosopher, approaches 
nearest to the previous more glorious state. 

Cf. Tennvson's " Two Voices:" — 



NOTES, 413 



" As old mythologies relate, 
Some draught of Lethe might await 
The slipping through from state to state. 

But if I lapsed from nobler place, 
Some legend of a fallen race 
Alone might hint of my disgrace." 

67. Compare Marlowe's lines : — 

" How shall I from its dungeon raise 
A soul enslaved so many ways ; 
A body that enfettered stands 
In feet, and manacled with hands ; 
Here blinded with an eye, and there 
Deaf with the drumming of an ear ? " 

85. Contrast Pope^s *' Essay on Man,'' ii. 275-282: — 

" Behold the child, by Nature's kindly law, 
Pleas'd with a rattle, tickled with a straw ; 
Some livelier plaything gives his youth delight, 
A little louder, but as empty quite : 
Scarfs, garters, gold, amuse his riper stage, 
And beads and prayer-books are the toys of age : 
Pleas'd with this bauble still, as that before. 
Till tir'd he sleeps, and Life's poor play is o'er." 

103. Humor oits stage. — Stage on which are exhibited the humors 
of mankind, that is, according to the Elizabethan usage, their whims, 
follies, caprices, odd manners. 

140-144. We may illustrate the preceding passage by some striking 
lines of Tennyson : — 

" Moreover something is or seems, 
That touches me with mystic gleams, 
Like glimpses of forgotten dreams j 

Of something felt, like something here ; 
Of something done, I know not where ; 
Such as no language may declare." 

163. That iminortal sea. — Sea of immortality. As Wordsworth 
pictures the human soul drifting across the ocean of eternity to be 



414 NOTES. 

tossed in its human birth upon the shore of earth, so Longfellow, in 
his legend of '' Hiawatha," has pictured the soul drifting out again 
in death into the ocean sunset. 

183. In the soothing thoughts that spring. Cf. — 

" Hearing oftentimes 
The still sad music of humanity." 

WORDSWORTH'S LAODAMIA. Page 344. 

This poem is one of the few instances in which Wordsworth has 
chosen a classic theme. Though he profoundly admired Virgil, and 
translated the first books of the ''^neid," he regard classical revivals 
for the most part as idle dilettantism, and pronounced Keats^s "- Hype- 
rion " *' a pretty piece of paganism." The present poem is one of the 
very few of Wordsworth's productions which can be fairly called 
dramatic, although even in this the modern reflective spirit triumphs 
over dramatic classicism. 

Laodamia was the daughter of Acastus, son of Peleus, king of 
lolcus, on the sea-coast of Thessaly. Her father was one of the Ar- 
gonauts who accompanied Jason in his quest of the golden fleece. She 
was the wife of Protesilaus, and on her husband's voluntary death at 
Troy, bewailed him with such constant affection that the gods al- 
lowed Protesilaus to revisit the upper world. She died heartbroken 
when her husband was recalled to the shades. 

See a fine criticism of the poem in Landor's '* Imaginary Conversa- 
tions," vol. i., *' Southey and Porson." One or two blots there pointed 
out were removed by Wordsworth in subsequent editions. It is notice- 
able that Wordsworth himself said, '* It cost me more trouble than 
almost anything of equal length I have ever written." 

I. The first edition of this stanza ran thus : — 

*' With sacrifice before the rising morn 

Performed, my slaughtered lord have I required ; 
And in thick darkness amid shades forlorn, 
Him of the infernal gods have I required." 

Sacrifices to the gods of the lower world were most properly made 
before daybreak. There is a striking description of such a sacrifice 
made by Medea to Hecate in the " Jason " of Mr. Morris. 



NOTES. 415 

15. Her hei'o. — Protesilaus was a Thessalian chief who devoted 
himself to the death prophesied by the Delphic oracle to him who 
should first touch the Mysian shore. He was accordingly the first 
Greek slain in the Trojan war, and fell by the hand of Hector. 

28. Cf Virgil's '' ^neid," ii. 794; Homer's ** Iliad," xxiii. 99. 
Also Dante's meeting with Casella, as described in the second canto 
of " Purgatory,*' Gary's translation. 

65. Consciotcs Pa?'ccE. — The Parcas were three goddesses who pre- 
sided over human life in its various phases. They are severally repre- 
sented as spinning, assigning, and cutting the thread of human life. 

66. A Stygian hue. — The Styx was the principal river of the lower 
world, which it encircled. *' Stygian'' is thus put generally for "of 
the lower world.*' "Stygian hue," = " paleness or livid color," natu- 
rally assigned to the victims of '^ pallida ino7's.'"' 

Dante represents himself as rendered deathly white by his passage 
through hell, and has his natural color restored by Virgil bathing his 
face in the morning dew. Cf. " Purgatory," canto ii. 

80. Gtiardian i}i07ister. — Cerberus, the three-headed dog which 
guarded the entrance to hell on the farther side of the Styx. The 
last of the twelve labors imposed on Hercules by Eurysthus was that 
of bringing Cerberus from the lower world. Hercules, accompanied 
by Hermes and Athene, not only performed the required task, but 
brought back to the upper world Alcestis, the wife of Admetus, whose 
life had been prolonged at the price of Alcestis' voluntary death. 

The subject forms one of Euripides' plays, and has been recently 
treated by Mr. Browning in " Balaustion," and Mr. Morris in his 
" Earthly Paradise." 

83. Medea^'s spells. — Laodamia would naturally recur to Medea, 
since Acastus, the father of Laodamia, had driven Medea and Jason 
from lolcus in consequence of the sorceress having faithlessly per- 
suaded the sisters of Acastus to cut up their father, Pelias, and boil 
him, in order that he might regain his youth, ^sod, the father of 
Jason and the half-brother of Pelias, was actually, it was said, restored 
to youth by Medea. 

120. At Aiilis lay enchained. — Aulis was a harbor at the mouth of 
the river Eurlpus, in Boeotia, where the Greek fleet assembled pre- 
vious to their voyage against Troy. The fleet was unable to sail on 
account of a calm sent by Artemis, whom Agamemnon had offended. 



4l6 NOTES. 

The goddess was, however, appeased by Agamemnon^s sacrifice of his 
daughter Iphigenia. The story is told by Euripides, Racine, and 
Goethe. 

158. The first version ran : — 

" Ah ! judge her gently who so deeply loved ! 
Her who in reason's spite yet without crime 
Was in a trance of passion thus removed, 
Delivered from tlie galling yoke of time ' : . 

And these frail elements, to gather flowers . 
Of 'blissful quiet 'mid unfailing bowers." 

173. Af the sight. —At the sight of the spot where Protesilaus had 
died, and which was the cause of his wife's sorrows. 



INDEX. 



Addison, Joseph, 139, 2S5, 358. 

Outline of life, 62. 

Questions on, 63. 

Selections from, 100, 287. 
Analysis, Guide, Explanation of, 12, 23, 
58, 82. 

For Wreck of the Hesperus, 8. 

For Norman Baron, 30. 

For Lord of Burleigh, 54. 

For study of a prose selection, 81. 

Use of the, 7. 
Authors, Representative, 127. 
Author, study of an, 14, 60, S3. 

Beleagured City (text of), 145. 

Battle of Blenheim (text of), 45. 

Bob Cratchit's Christmas Dinner (text 

of), 104. 
Browning, Robert, selection from, 65. 
Bryant, William Cullen, 136, 198. 

Selections from, 21, 200. 
Bums, Robert, 137, 223. 

Outline of life, 61. 

Questions on, 62. 

Selection from, 226. 
Byron, Lord, 139, 296. 

Selection from, 299. 

Campbell, Thomas, Sketch of, 366. 

Selection from, 43. 
Charles the Fifth, Abdication of (text 

of), 110. 
Children's Hospital, In the (text of), 67. 



Christmas Eve (text of), 152. 
Collateral study, 128. 
Cotter's Saturday Night, 226. 
Cowper, William, 139, 312. 

Selection from, 314. 
Criticism, Exercise in, 58, 82. 

Death of the Flowers (text of), 201. 
Death of the Old Year (text of), 283. 
Defence of Lucknow (text of), 72. 
Deserted Village (text of), 171. 

Questions on, 39. 
Dickens, Charles, Sketch of, 370. 

Selection from, 104. 
Dora (text of), 24. 

English Classics, Inexpensive editions 

of, 361. 
Elegy, Gray's (text of), 207. 

Questions on, 38. 
Escape on the Cliffs (text of), 253. 
Essays on General Topics, 130. 

on special topics, 132. 

For A' That and A' That (text of), 234. 
French Camp, Incident of (text of), 65. 
Frost Spirit (text of), 164. 

Goblet of Life (text of), 147. 
Goldsmith, Oliver, 136, 168, 357. 

Selection from, 171. 
Gray, Thomas, 137,. 205. 

Selection from, 193. 

417 



41^ 



INDEX. 



H li : ! r .; 5 '' ' i r : r r. . Trial of (text of), 1 19. 

H a " : i : ~ r , X = : haniel, 137, 212. 

Hr5 5 : : : ::e (text <rf), S. 

: - r 1 - aiysis of, S. 

H-:-.:-i ::i:;- :rxt 0^,235. 

H::~-, 0::tc: We- iell, 138,238. 

:-:h:;ir^ ?.::k -x: :f . i6. 

:-: - 1: 5 ;: Iziz: rtality (text of), 

kv-r Washington, 135, 149 

:•_-::;:- -. 93. 
Srlr-i-s frrnijSs, 152. 
iTfy, Battle of (text of), 77. 

Jeanie Deans's Pka (text of), 247. 

Ladj Claie (text of), 49. 

Questions on, 52. 
Laodamia (text c^, 344. 
Last Leaf (text c^, 241. 
Lines on a Portrait (text of), 166. 
Ut^atnie in general, i. 

Knglish, study of, 2. 

Books ns^nl to students of, 360. 
- Class exorcise in, S4. 

Miscellaneous subjects in, 351. 

Monument of, 358. 

Outline course in, 126. 

Syllabus of a course in, 134. 
Little Annie'^s Ramble (text of), 214. 
LocfaiuTar (text <^, 71. 
Loid of BurMgh (text of), 55. 

Guide anal]^^ <if, 54. 
Lord Ulliri*? Dau^ter (text of), 43. 
L :- £ : c : : - Henzy W., 135, 141. 

:■:::- :: ^:^?, 15. 

- :: 5 - m, 8, 31, 143. 
L:: --Z-.- -v>:f^. 269. 



Macaulay, Lord, Sketch of, 368. 

Selections from, 77, 119. 
Manual study, 129. 
Maiy in Hea¥en (text of), 236. 
Memory quotations, 58. 
Memory, aids to, 356. 
XiHoii, Johiiy 140, 323. 

Selection from, 326. 
Mirza, Vision of (text of), 100. 
Morte D'Arthur (text of), 275. 
Motley, John Lothrop, Sketdi of, 369, 

Selection from, 94. 
Mountain Daisy, To a (text of), 232. 
My Aunt (text f£)^ 240. 

Norman Baron as a model, 30. 
Guide analysis of, 30. 
Text of, 31. 
Questions on. 57. 

On his Blindness (text of), 332, 

Paraphrase, explained, "^-^^ 

Rules for, 34. 
Plan of the book, 5. 
Prescott, William Bidding, Sketch of, 

371. 
Sekflion from, no. 
Prisoner of Chillon (text oS)^ 299. 
Prose Selection, Study of a, 81. 

Questions on Addison, 63. 
Bums, 62. 

Deserted Yillage, 39. 
Gray's Elegy, ^. 
Irving, 93. 
Irring^s Voyage, 92. 
Lady Clare, 52. 
Xorman Baron, 37. 
Wreck of the Hesperus, 15. 

Receipt of Mothers Picture (text of), 

314- 
Representative authors, 127- 



INDEX. 



419 



Rip Van Winkle, Return of (text of), 

156. 

Rosabelle (text of), 41. 

Scott, Sir Walter, 138, 244. 

Selections from, 41, 71, 247. 
Sir Galahad (text of), 266. 
Sir Roger in the country, 287. 

At church, 291. 

Death of, 293. 
Shakspeare, William, 140, 318. 

Study of, 321. 

Reference to famous passages from, 
322. 
Sketch Book, Questions on, 93. 
Southey, Robert, Sketch of, 364. 

Selections from, 16, 45. 
Study, Methods of, 3. 

Selections for, 16, 41, 65, 85. 

General plan of, 7, 126. 
Supplementary Reading, 132. 
Syllabus of a course in literature, 134. 



Tennyson, Alfred, 138, 261. 

Selections from, 24, 49, 55, 67, 72, 
264. 
Text, Study of the, 13, 36. 
Thanatopsis (text of), 202. 
Traveller (text of), 184. 
Tritemius, Gift of (text of), 47. 

Ulysses (text of), 264. 

Voyage, The (text of), 85. 

Questions on, 92. 
Village Blacksmith (text of), 143. 

Waterfowl, To a (text of), 200. 
We are Seven (text of), 19. 
Whittier, John G., 136, 162. 

Selections from, 47, 164. 
William the Silent (text of), 94. 
White-footed Deer (text of), 21, 
Wordsworth, William, ^^^^^ 364. 

Selections from, 19, 338. 



/ 



